>%. 


#* 


* 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


SKIRMISHING 


BY 


MRS.C.JENiaN 


Henry  HoLT&  Co.  PuBLi  SHE 


New  York 


Pre  sen 
Date  r 

F)-um  an  At 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

The  California  ^tate 
Library 


',  pasted 


Seciion 
books  issui 
Legislatur( 
If  any  per 
he  shall  fo 
three  lime; 
warrant  in 

Slate,  for  1  ied  that 

such  member  or  oiTicernasrcturnea  an  oooKstaKen  oui  oi  me  i.iDrary  by 
him,  and  has  settled  all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

Sec.  15.  Hooks  may  be  taken  from  the  Lil)rary  by  the  mcmbersof  the 
Legislature  and  its  ofFicers  during  the  session  of  the  same,  and  at  any 
lime  by  the  Clovernor  and  the  ofiiccrs  of  the  Kxecutivc  Department  of 
this  State  who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at  the  seat  of  government, 
the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  Attorney-Lleneral  and  the  Trustees  j 
of  the  Library. 


Bfi^ 


JUST    PUBLISHED: 

BUZZ  A  BUZZ;  or,  THE  BEES.  From  the  German  of 
WiiHELM  Buscii  (Author  of  "Max  and  Maurice")-  By  Hezkkiah  Watkins. 
With  colorcil  illustrations.    8vo,  cloth,  gilt  back,  ink  and  gold  side  stump.     $1.50. 

"The  book  is  one  «(  the  best  recipe*  'to  laugh  and  grow  fat'  over  that  wo  have 
seen  for  many  a  diiy." — Eveninij  Mail. 

STRAUSS'  THE  OLD  FAITH  AND  THE  NEW. 
A  Confession.  By  David  Fuieduich  Strauss.  Authorized  translation  from 
the  sixth  edition.  By  Mathilde  Blind.  American  edition.  Two  volumes  in  one. 
The  translation  revised  and  partly  rewTittcn,  and  preceded  by  an  American  version 
of  the  author's  "Prefatory  Postscript."    ISmo,  §2.00. 

"  I  have  never  desired,  nor  do  I  now  desire,  to  disturb  tho  contentment  or  the  faith 
of  any  one.  But  where  these  are  already  shaken,  I  desire  to  point  out  the  direction  in 
which  a  firmer  soil  is  to  be  found." — pp.  *5,  10. 

^  "An  investigation  of  some  of  the  most  important  questions  that  a  candid  mind  cnn 
ask  of  the  woricl.  ...  A  boijk  whiih  we  feel  sure,  both  from  the  nature  of  the  sub- 
jects treated,  tho  serious  manner  of  discussion,  and  the  deservedly  great  reputation  cf  j||j 
yie  author,  will  make  its  mark  upon  the  time,  not  so  much  as  an  attack  upon  what  we  |U 
venerate  as  an  apology  for  those  who  honestly  differ  from  tho  majority  of  their  [S 
brothers. — Atlantic  Monthli/.  ^,j,  [j^ 

RECENT    MUSIC    AND    mSi^ICIANS,   as  described  in      i 

the  Diaries  and  Correspondence  of  Ignaz  Moscheles.     Selected  by  his  wife,  and        [j 
adapted  from  the  original  German  by  A.  D.  COLEniDOE.     12mo,  cloth,  $2.00.  »]1 

"Not  only  musical  enthusiasts,  but  every  one  who  has  the  faintest  glimmer  of  a  love  [jjj 

for  music  and  art  will  welcome  with  delight  this  volume.     It  is  a  personal  history  of  jijj 

nmsic  for  sixty  years  of  this  century — full  of  the  names  of  artists  and  composcrfi,  each  nl 

of  them  a  centre  of  pleasurable  emotions." — Examiner.  RU 

"  Full  of  pleasant  gossip.     The  diary  and  letters  between  th^m  contain  notices  and  |]| 

criticisms  on  almost  every  musical  celebrity  of  the  last  half  century." — Pall  Mall  HJ 

Gatette.  Vm 

HAMMER  AND  ANVIL.     By  F.  Spieuiagen.     Household     i 

Edition.  lOmo.     Uniform  with  "Problematic  Characters"  and  "Through  Night  to      {|j 

Light."     $1.50.  M 

"We  have  no  hesit«tion  in  pronouncing  'Hammer  and  Anvil' one  of  the  greatest      M 
masterworks  of  fiction  in  any  language  of  late  years." — Evening  Mail.  M 

A  TOUR  THROUGH   THE  PYRENEES.     By  Hippo- 

LYTE  Adolphe  Taine,  author  of  "A  History  of  English  Literature,"  "Travels  in  M 

Italy,"  etc."  || 

Having  sold  before  Christmas  the  entire  edition  of  Taine's  Pyrenees,  illustrated  by  M 

Doro,  the  publishers  will  now  inunediatcly  publigh  the  text  separately.     It  will  be  in  a  M 

library  edition,  something  like  the  same  author's  "  Notes  on  England,"  and  will  be  sold  VjAl 

at  not  over  a'quarter  the  jirice  of  tho  illustrated  volume.     It  is  remarkable  that,  in  the  llj 

illustrated  edition,  the  work  of  the  author  has  attracted  possibly  more  attention  than  tho  |f| 

embellishments  of  the  artist  and  publishers.      This  fact  indicates  a  large  sale  for  tho  [|jj 

library  edition.  U| 

HEl\/RY  HOLT  &  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York.         |j 

February  \Uh,  1871.  |{| 

'^ ^M 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 
(Leisure  Hour  Series) 

JUPITKR'S  DAUGHTERS. 
WHO  liREAKS  PAYS. 
SKIR.MISHINC;. 
MADAME  DE  BEAUPR15. 
A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 


p 


/ 


LEISURE    HOUR    SERIES 


Skirmishing 


BY 


Mrs.   C.  Jrnkin 


AUTHOR   OF    "JUPITER'S    DAUGHTERS,"    "WHO    BREAKS- 
PAYS,"  "A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY,"  &c.,  &c. 


"  Never  repent  of  a  kind  action,  however  it  turns  out  for  yourself." 

Mrs.  Lkscrimiere. 


NEW  YORK 

HKNRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1874 


p/? 


1 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAOE. 

I. — Datur  Hora  Qaietl,    .  .  ...        5 

II. — Swallowing  the  lieek,  .  .  .  .11 

m.— Dodge,  ........      18 

IV. — Church-going  and  Hop-picking,        .  .  .  .25 

^„^--¥. — No  Man  or  Woman  can  live  longer  at  Peace  than  Neigh- 
bours will  let  them, .  .  .  .  .  .46 

VI.— The  Lost  Sheep,  ......      46 

VII.— The  Pyrola 53 

VIII. — Chiaroscuro,     .......      57 

IX.— "The  Little  Rift," 66 

X.— One  Tale  is  Good  till  another's  Told, .        .  .  .71 

XI. — Woe  to  the  Conquered,  .  .  .  .  .79 

XII  — Tu  Quoque,       .......      83 

XIII— Why? 91 

XIV. — Danger  Fl;ig,    .......      97 

XV. — The  Shadow  of  Love, ......     104 

XVI. — A  word  Before  is  worth  two  After,  ....     no 

XVII. — Love's  Curse,   .......    116 

XVIII.— The  two  Sides  of  the  Shield,  .  .  .  .123 

XIX. — One  Eye-witness  is  better  than  ten  He.arsays,        .  .     128 

XX. — 111  news  Travels  apace,         .....    138 

XXI. — The  Wound  is  Great,  because  it  is  so  Small,         .  .    146 

XXIL— Le  Revenant,  .......    154 

XXIII.— New  Lights, 160 

XXIV.—"  Scattered  Foam,  that's  her  History,"      .  .  .165 

XXV.— Gone,     ........     173 

Tost  Scriptum.     "  Quid  Datur  a  Davis  felicit  optatina  Hora?"       .    183 


^1 


SK:II^3yLIs:P3:Il^TGl- 


CHAPTER  I. 

DATUR   HORA   QUIETI. 


IT  -was  the  evening  of  the  last  Sunday  in  August;  until 
after  Whitsunday  of  the  next  year,  there  would  be  no 
more  six  o'clock  services  in  the  largest  room  of  the  white 
house  on  the  top  of  the  common. 

The  curate  and  the  rector's  eldest  daughter  had  walked 
back  to  the  rectory  together,  over  the  fields  and  through 
the  hop  gardens;  Maud  Greatorex  had  a  small  bunch  of 
early  hops  in  her  hand.  Walter  Escott,  hot  and  wearied 
as  he  was  by  the  duties  of  the  day,  lingered  on  the  door- 
step, his  eyes  fixed  on  the  home  view  before  him.  Not 
much  wonder  that  he  did  pause,  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  the 
closing  day. 

Low  on  the  western  sky  was  a  space  of  luminous  light, 
above  which  hovered  little  fleecy  clouds  with  edges  of 
purest  gold  color ;  and  higher  still,  was  that  tint  which  is 
not  green  nor  yet  blue — clearer,  more  transparent  than 
any  hue  we  can  name,  and  peering  through  it  a  star,  the 
first  harbinger  of  night.  The  light  was  all  behind  the 
church  and  its  broad  old  yews  ;  the  church  was  of  a  uni- 
form ashy  grey,  the  trees  almost  black.  Caractacus,  the 
roan  pony,  stood  in  a  ruminating  attitude  in  the  glebe 
meadow,  surrounded  by  a  host  of  poultry  intent  on  going 
to  roost.  A  knot  of  sheep  were  huddled  together  under 
the  poplar-trees,  the  quivering  of  the  restless  leaves  quite 
visible  against  the  radiant  sky ;  occasionally  there  was  a 
distant  dog's  bark,  or  a  few  notes  from  some  garrulous 
bird,  before  it  decided  to  put  its  head  under  its  wing  :  no 
other  sounds. 

"You  look  very  tired,  Walter,"  said  Maud. 

1'  (5) 


b  SKIRMISHING. 

He  turned  his  cj'es  from  the  sky  and  the  church  to  her 
face. 

"  Only  sufficiently  so  to  double  the  enjoyment  of  this 
hour  of  quiet,"  he  answered.  The  face  he  was  looking  at, 
suited  the  hour  and  scene  :  it  was  full  of  a  tranquil  joy; 
the  black  eyes  were  kind  and  grave,  like  those  of  a  child ; 
the  forehead,  up  to  that  instant  unruffled  by  one  painful 
thought,  as  smooth  as  when  she  was  five  years  old  ;  the 
lips  as  even  in  line  and  color-^not  the  slightest  distur- 
bance visible  in  any  feature.  It  is  the  last  time  the  curate 
will  see  it  thus :  life  is  about  to  write  its  experience  on 
the  fair  surface. 

"Shall  we  walk  to  the  summer-house?"  asked  the 
curate,  on  hearing  a  hubbub  of  boys'  and  girls'  voices ; 
his  betrothed's  brothers  and  sisters  were  coming  in  at  the 
gate.  Escott  moved  on  without  waiting  for  an  assent,  so 
well  used  was  he  to  find  Maud  ready  to  follow  Avherever 
he  led.  They  were  soon  out  of  reach  of  the  noisy  merry 
rogues,  and  pacing  the  neatly  gravelled  walk  leading  to 
what  was  considered  as  Maud's  particular  retreat. 

"  Did  you  observe  that  both  ]<]ben  Hart  and  Jemima 
"White  were  at  evening  service  ?"  was  how  Maud  broke 
the  silence  of  their  walk.  Escott  nodded.  "  I  went  to 
see  Jemima  yesterday,"  continued  the  young  lady.  "  It  is 
not  true  that  she  is  untidy,  one  of  the  accusations,  you 
know,  which  old  Hart  brings  against  her.  She  keeps  her 
father's  cottage  as  clean  and  nice  as  possible,  and  as  for 
herself,  she  was  a  picture  of  neatness — her  hair  shone  like 
glass.  I  have  been  so  iiuligiuuit  at  the  cool  way  in  which 
ICben  gave  her  u\) ;  I  could  not  help  saying,  I  hoped  she 
would  show  a  proper  womanly  pride,  and  never  speak  to 
him  again." 

"  And  what  did  Jemima  say?"  asked  the  curate,  with  a 
smile  in  liis  eyes. 

•  Oh  !  she  began  to  defend  him  directly,  and  laid  all  the 
lilame  on  his  father,  declaring  roundly  that  neither  she 
nor  any  one  else  ought  to  lilame  Eben  ;  he  was  only  obey- 
ing Ills  parents.  I  said,  '  I  do  believe,  .leiiiinia.  you  would 
have  him  now  if  he  asked  you,'  and  she  answered,  '  1  am 
afraid  I  would,  miss.  I  never  could  care  about  another 
man  ;  wo  have  walked  togetliiT.  l''l)cn  iind  me.  ever  since 
1  was  twelve  years  old.'" 


DATUR   IIORA   QUIETI.  7 

I  was  sure  of  it,"  exclaimed  the  curate  ;  "  a  true 
woman  this  Miss  Wliite.  And  you  were  really  surprised, 
Maud,  that  you  could  not  make  Jemima  take  part  against 
the  man  she  loves  ?" 

Maud  scarcely  heard  what  Escott  said,  at  least  did  not 
at  that  moment  seize  his  meaning ;  it  was  only  the  voice 
that  spoke  she  heard,  only  the  smile  of  the  speaker  that 
she  saw.  Some  men  have  advantages  far  beyond  mere 
regularity  of  feature,  and  Escott  was  one  of  these  too 
favoured  children  of  nature.  Maud  felt  his  voice  and 
smile  like  a  "silent  caress,"  and  her  young  heart  grew  too 
big  for  her  bosom,  as  she  stood  beneath  his  gaze.  She 
turned  away  with  a  wish  to  say  something,  and  could  find 
nothing  better  to  remark  than,  "  Ah  !  there  vanishes  the 
sun  for  this  day." 

Escott  murmured  to  himself, — 

"  The  sun  grew  broader  towards  his  death,  and  fell." 

The  aptness  of  the  image  struck  Maud,  and  not  recog- 
nizing the  quotation,  she  thought  to  herself,  as  indeed  she 
did  a  hundred  times  between  every  morning  and  evening 
of  the  week,  "  How  clever  he  is  !" 

Presently  he  said, 

"  Maud,  I  have  been  thinking  lately  of  proposing  to 
your  father  to  let  me  exchange  duties  for  a  couple  of 
months  with  some  overworked  London  curate :  there  is  a 
positive  injustice  in  one  man's  enjoying,  summer  after 
summer,  such  sweet  fresh  air,  comparative  no  work,  and 
another  slaving  day  and  night  in  dark  pestiferous  alleys, 
exposed  to  every  sort  of  bodily  and  mental  infection.  I 
should  like  to  send  some  half-poisoned  creature  here,  and 
while  I  was  trying  my  hand  at  his  task,  to  picture  him  to 
myself,  lying  on  the  cool  grass  under  a  tree,  drinking  in 
the  healthy  air,  learning  to  distinguish  between  the  whistle 
of  the  blackbird  and  the  song  of  the  thrush  ;  taking  his 
Sunday  evening  rest,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  such  a  sky  as 
this,  watching  the  stars  as  they  twinkle  into  sight." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  but  you,  Walter, " 

"  I,"  he  went  on  quickly,  "  I  should  learn  to  be  more 
grateful  for  the  blessings  of  my  lot." 

Maud,  as  she.  listened,  felt  as  though  every  syllable  be 
said  was  a  little  painful  blow  on  her  heart — she  had  lit- 
erally a  physical  sensation  of  pain.     IIow  easily  he  talked 


8  SKIRIVUSHING. 

of  going  away,  and  without  one  allusion  to  any  unwilling- 
ness to  leave  her ;  and  she,  why  she  knew  that,  of  her  own 
free-will,  she  could  never  decide  Qp  a  day's  absence  from 
him.  She  had  it  on  her  lips  to  say,  '•  If  you  cared  for  mc 
as  I  care  for  you,  I  am  sure  you  would  not  want  to  go  to 
London  or  anywhere  else,  or  be  thinking  of  any  one's 
happiness  but  mine."  She  did  not  utter  her  thought, 
however,  for  when  a  first  doubt  of  a  friend  presents  itself 
to  an  untried  mind,  it  meets  with  intuitive  opposition — it 
is  driven  away  Avith  the  contempt  due  to  a  slanderer. 

Escott,  in  the  meantime,  yielding  to  the  influence  of  the 
hour,  had  fallen  into  a  pleasant  reverie,  without  the  re- 
motest idea  of  the  effect  of  his  last  speech — more  the 
expression  of  a  momentary  feeling  than  of  any  serious  in- 
tention. 

Both  were  startled  out  of  their  meditations  by  the 
sound  close  by  of  some  one  whistling  a  popular  polka, 
and  directly  afterwards  a  boy,  dressed  something  in  the 
fashion  of  a  German  student  on  a  pedestrian  expedition, 
i.  e.,  in  a  brown  hollaud  blouse,  with  a  black  leather  belt 
round  his  waist,  a  smart  little  cap  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
swinging  a  light  cane,  stepped  jauntingly  along  the  sunken 
road  which  ran  by  the  rectory  grounds. 

"  It  is  young  Brown,"  said  Maud. 

The  curate's  face  darkened. 

As  the  lad  came  opposite  to  where  the  young  lady  was 
standing,  he  ceased  his  Avhistle,  and  lifted  his  cap,  with  a 
half  mock  reverential  gesture,  showing  as  he  did  so  a  pro- 
fusion of  light,  close-curling  hair.  ISlaud  bowed  slightly, 
but  Escott  turned  his  back.  In  another  instant  the  ob- 
noxious whistle  was  again  ringing  through  the  air. 

"What  a  misfortune  for  us  and  the  parish  that  such 
people  as  these  Browns  should  have  taken  tlie  JIatch," 
.sighed  Escott. 

"They  do  help  llie  poor  tliough,"  said  Maud. 

"  Yes,  they  ^ive  away  money,  and  set  a  bad  example  in 
pretty  equal  ])roportions.  That  boy  undoes  in  the  week 
all  the  pood  llic-  pjrls  get  on  Sundays.  T  detest  to  go  up 
1o  the  (.'(inimdii,  lie  is  for  ever  there,  talking  and  joking 
with  the  11  arts,  nnd  Whites,  and  Tyles^  they  are  ten 
times  as  liglil-headed  as  they  were  before  ho  came  here. 
lie  is  on  his  wav  now  to  Coidblows,  and  the  whole  even- 


HAT  UK    llORA    QUIETI.  9 

ing  will  be  spent  in  idle  talk  aiul  merriment,  if  not  worse. 
Larry  Earl  has  left  otF  coming  to  read  with  nie  on  Sun- 
days, and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  laying  the  blame  on  that 
young  vagabond." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Maud,  "if  the  boy  had  some  compan- 
ions of  his  own  rank,  he  would  behave  better.  Ma- 
demoiselle says  that  when  she  has  met  him  at  the  Earls, 
though  he  is  full  of  his  nonsense,  he  is  never  rude  or  un- 
gentlemanly." 

"  I  am  sorry  your  governess  knows  anything  of  him.  I 
trust  he  will  never  be  allowed  to  make  his  way  into  the 
rectory." 

Here  the  walk  and  the  conversation  ended. 

The  village  of  Eden,  of  which  Maud's  father,  Mr.  Great- 
orex,  is  the  rector,  with  its  pleasant  pastures,  its  hop- 
gardens, its  bosky  ravines,  its  hill-sides  clothed  with 
hanging  woods,  its  quiet  green  lanes,  and  its  neat  scat- 
tered cottages,  lies  snugly  folded  away  among  "  long- 
backed  downs."  No  high  road  to  anywhere  passes 
through  it,  no  railway-station  makes  it  easy  of  access. 
There  is  in  it  only  one  house  of  any  pretension  to  gentility 
besides  the  rectory,  viz.,  the  Hatch,  which,  with  its  bright 
green  outside  shutters  and  deep  grey  roof,  resembles 
many  of  the  small  chateaux  in  the  environs  of  French 
provincial  towns.  But  the  Hatch  had,  till  within  very 
lately,  been  empty  for  years ;  its  owners  had  gone  abroad, 
leaving  it  furnished,  in  the  hope  of  its  being  taken  as 
summer  quarters.  Now,  as  the  Greatorexes'  nearest 
neighbours  lived  three  miles  off,  it  may  be  easily  under- 
stood how  lonely  they  had  been  since  the  departure  of 
the  family  from  the  Hatch,  and  how  excited  they  became 
— from  the  eldest  to  the  youngest — when  it  was  known 
that  the  Hatch  had  at  last  found  a  tenant. 

Master  Charlie  Greatorex,  some  three  months  before 
this  particular  August  evening,  returning  from  an  expe- 
dition with  his  ferret,  had  been  startled  by  the  sight  of 
the  opened  windows  of  the  "  house  to  let,"  and  of  a 
one-horse  fly  standing  at  the  gate.  Charlie  had  recog- 
nized the  driver  as  one  of  the  men  from  the  inn  where 

Mr.  Greatorex  put  up  his  carriage  when  he  went  to  Z , 

the  nearest  market  town  to  Eden  ;  so  Charlie  had  stopped 
and  asked  the  driver  whom  he  had  brought  over. 


10  SKIRMISHING. 

The  driver  did  not  know  the  name — some  people  come 
over  with  Mr.  Matthews  to  look  at  the  house ;  but 
Charlie  seeing  a  hand-book  lying  on  one  of  the  carriage 
seats,  with  the  daring  of  a  young  heir-apparent — Charlie 
had  no  equal  in  Eden — sprang  into  the  fly  and  opened 
the  book.  Alas  !  there  was  no  name,  only  the  initial 
F.  B.  Little  as  it  was,  it  was  great  news  for  the  rectory 
lunch-table. 

By  dinner-time  the  rector  knew  that  the  Hatch  was  let, 
positively  let  to  a  Mrs.  Brown,  who  had  one  son.  Mrs. 
Brown  had  taken  the  house  for  a  year,  and  was  coming 
to  it  immediately. 

Then  had  followed  suppositions  and  conjectuff^'^  innu- 
merable. Was  she  a  widow  ?  Probably ;  though  she 
might,  to  be  sure,  be  the  wife  of  an  officer  on  foreign 
service,  or  of  some  one  in  India,  a  civil  servant,  or  indigo- 
planter.  It  would  have  been  more  satisfactory  had  there 
been  a  Mr.  Brown  instead  of  a  Master  Brown ;  but  there 
being  no  visible  husband  did  not  necessarily  prove  the 
lady  to  be  a  widow.  At  any  rate,  she  must  be  tolerably 
well  off  to  take  the  Hatch:  no  one  could  live  there  with- 
out four  or  live  servants.  Well,  it  was  a  blessing  the 
house  was  taken.  If  her  mother  would  have  preferred 
that  Mrs.  Brown  had  had  a  husband  instead  of  a  son, 
Maud  could  have  wished  the  boy  had  been  a  girl.  On 
tlie  whole,  however,  the  rectory  was  in  high  spirits.  One 
must  have  lived  in  such  a  place  as  Eden  to  understand 
the  value  of  a  house  being  occupied. 

The  first  Sunday  after  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Brown  at 
the  Hatch,  morning  service  was  fully  attended,  which  is 
only  the  case  in  country  parishes  on  solemn  occasions. 
The  choir — tenor,  counter,  and  bass — managed  miracu- 
lously to  have  shaved  in  time,  and  were  in  their  seats  in 
the  ciianccl. 

No  strangers  came  to  hear  them  either  in  the  morning 
or  afternoon ;  the  disappointment  was  as  good  as  a 
sermon  against  making  the  cflort  of  shaving  early  to 
eoinc  to  cliiirch,  iiicrciy  to  gratify  curiosity  and  vanity. 
Neitlicr  that  Sunday  nor  ensuing  Sundays  did  the  ten- 
ants of  llic  Hatch  appear  in  churcli. 

Tiie  (Jrcatiircxcs  had  hesitated  to  call  on  them;  jirimo, 
because  they  iiad  ajjparcntly  no  more  religion  than  stocks 


SWALLOWING    THE    LEEK.  11 

or  stones,  tliougli  of  their  cliarity  there  could  be  no 
doubt ;  secundo,  becuuse  the  rector  and  his  lady  were  not 
sure  of  the  Browns'  position  in  life — indeed  every  one 
was  puzzled  how  and  where  to  class  them.  Instead  of 
the  regular  quota  of  cook,  house-nuiid,  footman,  and  gar- 
dener, hitherto  considered  the  smallest  establishment 
possible  at  the  Hatch,  the  strangers  had  but  one  servant 
of  all  work,  or  for  all  work,  and  that  servant  a  man  and 
a  foreigner,  in  fact  a  grey-haired  Oerman.  Then  Master 
Brown  had  got  acciuainted  with  all  the  folks  on  the  Com- 
mon, the  least  respectable  part  of  the  parish,  and,  as  the 
curate  had  said,  was  almost  every  evening  to  Ijc  met  in 
the  green  lanes  thereabouts,  walking  with  half  a  dozen 
girls,  keeping  them  in  fits  of  laughter.  It  was  through 
these  acquaintances  the  boy  heard  of  any  case  of  distress, 
and  his  mother's  hand  was  as  open  as  the  day.  No  deny- 
ing that.  It  is  not  in  the  country  as  it  is  in  town,  Avhcre 
you  are  supremely  indifferent  to  your  next-door  neigh- 
bours, so  that  they  neither  practice  the  cornet-k-piston 
nor  manufacture  fireworks.  But  if  in  the  country  there 
is  a  greater  spirit  of  inquiry,  there  is  a  more  neighbourly 
kindness  also.  The  question  of  calling  at  the  Hatch  was 
at  the  end  of  three  months  still  in  an  unsettled  state ; 
there  was  indeed  a  large  party  in  favour  of  doing  so, 
composed  of  the  junior  members  of  the  family,  headed  by 
grandmamma,  and  probably  it  might  have  been  already 
decided  in  the  affirmative  but  for  Walter  Escott's  taciturn 
opposition.  Had  he  only  joined  in  the  discussions,  his 
power  would  have  been  a  balanced  one  ;  but  that  silence, 
which  argued  nothing,  yet  implied  so  much,  made  the 
scale  of  the  objectors  kick  the  beam. 


CHAPTER   II. 

SWALLOWING    THE    LEEK. 


WHEN   Escott   and  Maud  walked  through  the  con- 
servatory into  the  drawing-room,  they  heard  grand- 
mamma's strong  clear  voice  saying, — 

"  Go  and  see  them  ?  to  be  sure  you  ought.     It  should 
have  been  done  long  ago :  better  late  than  never ;  they 


12  SKIRMISHING. 

are  your  parishioners — they're  not  mad — they  won't  bite 
you." 

These  obnoxious  Browns  were  again  under  discussion. 
That's  one  of  the  disadvantages  of  the  country.  The 
allowable  nine  days  for  any  topic  is  multiplied  by  nine. 

"  I  am  afraid,  mother,"  replied  Mrs.  Greatorex,  "  if  we 
do,  of  its  ending  in  something  like  our  experiment  with 
the  Dunstans." 

"  But,  grandmamma,"  ....  began  Maud,  who.  believ- 
ing that  her  future  husband  must  always  be  right,  did 
not  care  that  her  family  should  run  counter  to  his 
opinion. 

"Hush,  Maud,"  interrupted  grandmamma,  "you  are  a 
partisan,  therefore  whatever  you  say  on  this  point  goes 
for  nothiitg.  After  all,  you  know  nothing  more,  do  you, 
against  these  Browns,  except  that  they  haven't  an  estab- 
lishment of  smart  servants  as  your  father  has,  but  only  a 
round-shouldered,  shabby-looking  old  German,  for  all 
their  domesticity  ?  and  when  you  have  added  that  they 
are  not  Sabbatical,  you  have  emptied  your  bag,  I 
believe." 

(Within  a  parenthesis  be  it  explained,  that  the  lady 
speaking  was  the  Avidow  of  a  Monsieur  de  I'Escrimifere, 
and  that  her  English  mother  had  also  married  a  French- 
man, an  emigrant  of  '92.  "Madame  de  I'Escrimifere,"  or, 
as  she  chose  now  to  be  called,  Mrs.  Lescrimifere.  though 
able  to  speak  English  fluently,  would  occasionally  use  a 
French  word  or  idiom,  when  cither  best  expressed  her 
meaning.  She  was  an  oppositionist  by  nature,  and 
education  had  made  her  an  abhorrcr  of  all  arbitrary 
social  distinctions — all  despotic  authority,  of  whatever 
species.) 

Mrs.  Lcscrimiferc  went  on  : 

"They  have  come  from  the  Continent,  and  we  know 
such  folks  can't  have  the  respectability  and  gentility  of 
pure,  untravellcd  English — aware  of  my  own  imperfec- 
tions in  that  line,  I  am  paid  to  be  indulgent,  and  as  for 
their  not  having  come  to  church  yet,  they  mayn't  be  tlie 
less  good  (,'liristians  for  that." 

Escott  was  about  to  speak — 

"Oh!  my  dear  curate,"  she  said,  waving  her  hand, 
•'  I  know  what  you  arc  going  to  say,  perfectly  well.     I 


SWALLOWING  THE   LEEK.  13 

don't  deny  your  reasons,  only  allow  that  I  am  reasonable 
also  when  I  beg  you  to  remember  that  there  were  Chris- 
tians— excellent,  the  best  of  Christians — before  they  had 
any  church  to  go  to.  Ah!  you  don't  forget,  I  am  sure, 
that  the  Jews  and  Pagans  persecuted  and  despised  them 
for  not  going  to  their  temples.  Now  don't  all  of  you 
look  as  though  I  deserved  to  be  packed  up  between  two 
faggots,  but  listen  to  a  story  !"  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  gene- 
rally had  a  story  pat  for  every  subject.  ""When  my 
father  and  mother  married,  or  rather  when  my  father  ran 
away  with  my  mother  to  Gretna  Green,  (they  were  mar- 
ried afterwards  also  by  a  priest,)  they  found  a  pretty 
cottage  among  the  hills  in  Cumberland,  and  thought  it 
would  be  a  fine  quiet  haven  to  wait  in  until  the  storm 
about  their  elopement  should  have  blown  over.  Ah  !  my 
father  did  not  go  to  the  village  church,  for  an  essential 
reason :  he  had  been  baptized  and  brought  up  as  a 
Catholic — a  Roman  Catholic,  as  it's  the  fashion  to  say — 
and  of  course  he  would  have  deemed  it  a  sin  to  pray  in  a 
Protestant  church.  Protestants  return  the  compliment 
to  the  Roman  Catholic  chapels  ;  besides,  it  was  not  much 
the  habit  among  Frenchmen  of  that  epoch  to  go  to  any 
place  of  worship.  My  mother  either  lacked  courage  to 
face  an  inquisitive  rural  congregation  by  herself,  or  pre- 
ferred doing  as  her  husband  did — girls  in  love  have  a 
logic  of  their  own  :  however  that  might  be,  they  did  not 
either  of  them  go  to  church.  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  my  parents  were  really  estimable  persons — full 
of  good  works,  Mr.  Escott — descendants  in  right  line  of 
the  good  Samaritan.  AVell,  first  there  was  a  whisper  in 
the  Cumberland  parish,  which  grew  and  grew  in  strength 
till  it  might  have  been  heard  a  league  round.  The  French 
couple  were  Jews,  Turks,  Atheists ;  they  burned  the 
Bible  every  Sunday ;  then  their  windows  were  broken, 
and  on  their  drawing-room  carpet  hopped  frogs,  and  I 
might  never  have  been  hei*e  to  tell  this  story  but  for  the 
rector  of  the  village  and  his  amiable  wife,  afterwards  my 
godmother.  Up  to  that  time,  they  had  not  called  on  the 
Johnny  Crapauds,  just  because  of  their  not  having  made 
their  appearance  at  church ;  but  when  this  sort  of  perse- 
cution began,  they  bravely  came  to  the  cottage  and 
invited  my  father  and  mother  to  the  parsonage,  and  the 


14  SKIRMISHING. 

vfliispers,  and  the  hubbub,  aud  the  plague  of  frogs  ceased 
And  so  you  see  that  the  mere  fact  of  not  going  to  the 
parish  church,  so  long  at  least  as  one  keeps  one's  feet 
from  straying  into  opposition  chapels,"  (this  was  a  hit  at 
the  curate,)  ''does  not  of  necessity  make  Mrs.  Brown  a 
phenomenon  of  wickedness." 

Escott  now  came  out  of  his  corner  to  say, — 

"  Indifierence  to  small  neglects  of  dut}',  leads  to  very 
serious  errors ;  and  voluntarily  to  choose  for  one's  ac- 
quaintance those  of  whose  habits  we  do  not  approve,  is  a 
willing  exposure  of  ourselves  to  temptation.  Besides, 
what  an  example  to  the  parish,  to  see  the  rector  and  his 
family  calling  on  people  who  tiy  in  the  face  of  our  admo- 
nitions as  to  the  necessity  of  coming  to  church  !" 

"How  can  you  tell  that  it  may  not  be  the  means  of 
bringing  Mrs.  Brown  and  her  young  Pickle  into  the  right 
way  ?  People  in  health  don't  require  the  doctor's  care, 
do  they  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lescrimiere.  "  And  as  for  tempta- 
tion, my  dear  sir,  if  you  don't  go  to  it,  it  comes  to  you ; 
perch  yourself  on  the  top  of  the  Yendomo  column,  or 
hide  in  the  caves  of  Edom.  temptation  will  find  you  out. 
You  must  go  out  of  this  world  to  avoid  it,  if  you  do  even 
then,  my  dear  friend." 

Escott  moved  his  shoulders,  a  ))etulant  movement,  such 
as  one  remarks  in  spoiled  children.  'I'liis  old  lady  was  a 
great  trial  to  him,  and  a  trial  for  which  he  was  not  at  all 
thankful ;  there  was  something  about  her  which  he  quali- 
fied to  liimsclf  as  "disorder."  She  hated  routine,  never 
would  receive  any  notion  on  authority,  and  would  insist 
on  discussing  its  reasonableness,  its  credibility.  She  dis- 
turbed Escott  in  all  the  ideas  and  liabits  in  which  he  had 
been  brought  up  ;  she  did  not  in  the  least  amuse  him  as 
she  did  tiie  equally  pious  but  more  tolerant  Mr.  (Ireatorcx  ; 
she  was,  besides,  always  so  possessed  by  her  subject,  that 
she  seldom  perceived  that  she  was  worrying  or  displeasing 
any  of  her  hearers  by  her  insistence. 

"  Such  a  theory  as  yours,  grandmamma "  began  Mr. 

(Jreatorex,  who  as  yet  luul  taken  no  part  in  the  discus- 
sion. 

"Never  mind  theories,"  iiroke  in  the  wilful  old  lady, 
"let's  stick  to  pracliee,  and  J  j)rotest  Mrs.  Brown's  prac- 
tice is   good.     She  is    far    from   rich,  that  is  clear;  yet 


SWALLOWING   THE   LEEK..  15 

wherever  there's  sickness  or  the  want  of  a  shilling  or  two, 
I  find  Mrs.  Brown's  meat  or  Mrs.  Brown's  money.  She 
lives  a  life  that  would  do  honour  to  a  nun,  young  and 
handsome  as  she  is ;  and  yet  we  send  her  to  Coventry  as 
though  she  were  a  confessed  criminal." 

''It  is  exactly  because  she  chooses  to  live  so  differently 
from  other  people  that  one  hesitates  whether  to  visit  her 
or  not,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex.  "  Why  does  she  seek  such 
retirement?  no  letters  even!" 

"  Go  and  ask  her  why;  that  will  be  the  shortest  way  of 
coming  at  the  reason,"  replied  Mrs.  Lcscrimifere,  laugh- 
ing ;  then  she  added,  "  1  suppose  I  may  as  well  confess 
that  my  word  is  at  stake.  My  dear  Louisa,  I  have 
promised  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Brown,  and  being  in  the  scrape 
myself,  I  thought  you  might  as  well  be  my  companion ; 
and  so  I  told  the  boy  you  would  do  yourself  the  pleasure 
of  calling  on  his  mother." 

At  this  announcement  Escott  turned  sharply  on  his 
heel,  and  went  into  the  conservatory,  Maud's  eyes  fixed 
themselves  on  the  carpet,  Mrs.  Greatorex  reddened  and 
looked  at  her  husband. 

There  was  such  an  exuberance  of  hearty  kind  feelings 
in  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  such  a  strength  of  desire  to  help 
every  sort  of  suffering,  such  a  tendency  to  take  the  part 
of  the  weak  against  the  strong  (she  always  believed  the 
weaker  of  the  two  to  be  in  the  right) ;  and  once  enlisted 
in  favour  of  any  one  or  anything,  such  an  incapability  of 
seeing  the  other  side  of  the  question,  that  this  was  by  no 
means  the  first  time  that,  through  taking  the  initiative, 
she  had  entangled  her  daughter  in. a  delicate  dilemma. 
It  would  take  pages  to  describe  Mrs.  Lescrimiijre's  admi- 
rable mistakes  ;  the  wonder  to  her  friends  was,  tliat  after 
her  sad  experiences,  she  should  be  still  so  full  of  life,  and 
hope,  and  what  Escott  denominated,  speculative  optim- 
ism. Common-place  people  called  her  ways  of  thinking 
and  acting,  affi'ctation  or  insanity  ;  wiser  heads  said,  that 
the  quickness  of  her  circulation  was  at  the  root  of  it  all. 

The  measure  of  difference  of  views  between  motlier  and 
daughter  was  that  of  a  whole  century.  While  Mrs.  Les- 
crimifere  had  been  roughing  it  through  the  world  with  a 
husband  whose  political  opinions  forced  him  to  change 
his  place  of  residence  pretty  frequently,  Louisa,  now  Mrs. 


1 6  SKIRMISHING. 

Greatorex,  was  being  educated  in  a  provincial  town  in 
England  by  a  v.idowed  aunt,  on  the  walls  of  whose  sitting- 
room  hung  engravings  of  George  the  Third,  Queen 
Charlotte,  and  William  Pitt :  educated,  that  is,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  unfolded  standard  of  reverence  for 
the  divine  right  of  kings,  of  social  etiquettes,  and  of 
old  systems.  Reunited  to  her  mother,  Louisa's  notions 
had  been  gradually  somewhat  modified,  she  had  even 
learned  that  some  of  her  gods  were  false  gods,  she  had 
moments  when  she  was  as  ready  as  her  mother  to  be  in- 
dignant over  the  good  old  times  ;  but  then  it  was  her 
heart,  not  her  head,  that  was  influenced ;  no,  under  the 
surface  of  her  charming  gentleness  and  real  simplicity, 
lurked  the  ineradicable  Tory  prejudices  of  her  j'outh. 
She  yielded  to  her  mother  from  love,  but  her  sympathies 
were  with  her  intended  son-in-law,  a  great  stickler  for  au- 
thority in  all  things  qiiand  mhne. 

The  dead  silence  of  their  elders  made  Carry,  and 
Charlie,  and  "Willie,  who  had  been  busily  talking  over  the 
pictures  in  the  large  Bible,  cease  their  chatter,  and  begin 
to  watch  what  was  going  on. 

Mr.  Greatorex  was  the  one  who  relieved  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere's  embarrassment,  for  embarrassed  she  was  in  spite 
of  liersclf;  he  said,  "You  have  cut  the  Gordian  knot, 
grandmamma — bravely  come  to  the  rescue  of  our  curi- 
osity ;  we  could  not  have  gone  on  much  longer  wondering 
about  these  neighbours  of  our.  "Whatever  conies  it,  we 
can  now  lay  all  the  blame  on  you.  I  shall  have  interest- 
ing news  for  our  next  clerical  meeting." 

"I  thought  you  clericals  never  talked  of  anything  but 
Greek,"  here  put  in  Master  Charlie. 

The  Swiss  governess  frowned  severely  on  the  young 
gentleman. 

"  But  how  did  you  come  to  speak  to  young  Brown, 
mother?"  asked  Mrs.  Greatorex. 

"I  met  the  boy  yesterday  at  Mrs.  Green's,  my  dear  ;  he 
had  been  helping  the  poor  old  body  to  carry  her  pail  of 
water,  and  he  was  sitting  chatting  with  her  when  1  went 
in.  I  could  not  pretend  not  to  see  him,  and  once  having 
spoken,  the,  conNersation  went  on  of  itsell'.  We  walked 
down  the  hill  together.  1  liked  his  keen  relish  of  the 
bright  sunshine,  the  llowers,  the  birds.     ]  liked  the  way 


SWALLOWING   THE    LEEK.  17 

he  avoided  all  hints  or  allusions  to  himself  or  us  ;  not  a 
word  as  to  its  being  dull  here  ; — that  was  a  proof  of  self- 
respect,  wasn't  it  ?''  All  the  good  lady's  usual  brightness 
of  eye  and  briskness  of  tone  were  merged  into  anxiety  to 
mollify  her  auditors. 

Mr.  Greatorex  again  took  her  part;  he  liked  her  smiles 
and  her  little  brusqueric. 

"Well,  well,  grandmamma,  we'll  go  and  fulfil  your 
promise ;  when  we  have  seen  Mrs.  Brown,  and  talked 
with  her,  we  shall  be  able  to  judge  with  something  of 
knowledge." 

Escott  left  the  field  to  the  conqueror. 

The  summer  twilight  was  over  and  night  had  arrived 
when  the  curate  walked  out  of  the  rectory  porch  ;  the 
stars  glittered  through  the  branches  of  the  great  cedar 
that  stood  to  the  right  of  the  lawn,  and  made  it  look  like 
a  child's  gigantic  Christmas  tree,  hung  with  variegated 
crystal  drops.  Outside  the  gate,  nothing  of  earth  checked 
his  view  of  heaven's  great  spangled  arch.  The  pure  light 
of  the  gleaming  galaxy  streamed  into  his  soul  and  showed 
him  how  puerile  the  causes  which  had  chafed  his  spirit. 
The  stars  called  to  him  in  the  same  voice  in  which  they 
had  called  to  the  patriarchs  and  shepherds  of  ages  past; 
they  told  him  as  they  had  told  those  of  old,  "  To  sing 
praises  unto  the  Lord  who  sitteth  in  the  heavens  over  all 
from  the  beginning." 

"  Can  any  one  with  the  power  of  thought  be  abroad  on 
such  a  night  in  the  quiet  fields  full  of  sheep,  the  valleys 
thick  with  corn  so  that  they  laugh  and  sing,  and  not  have 
awakened  within  him  a  prophetic  knowledge  of  God?" 
Escott  was  passing  the  llatch  as  he  thus  soliloquised. 
Out  from  the  widely  opened  windows  floated  a  rich  volume 
of  melody.  A  voice,  ajDparently  a  woman's  contralto, 
sung  with  merry  vigour,  "  II  scgreto  per  esscr  felice." 
Escott  stopped  to  listen,  for  the  music  and  singing  were 
exquisite ;  yet  impossible  to  have  chanced  on  anything 
more  jarring  with  the  tone  to  which  his  meditations  were 
pitched  than  the  words  of  that  song,  familiar  to  him  as  to 
most  people. 

"  Unfortunate  beings  !"  said  the  curate  to  himself,  •'  who, 
informed  by  an  immortal  soul,  can  fall  so  low  as  to  take 
such  joys  as  the  secret   of  happiness !"     Nevertheless, 


18  SKIRMISHING. 

the  strain  held  him  entranced,  and  he  had  a  painful  double 
consciousness,  as  if  something  in  himself  answered  to  the 
dictum  of  the  song.  And  where  are  we  to  find  the  per- 
son who  has  not  often  experienced  a  sudden  inner  reaction, 
from  the  noble  to  the  mean  ?  where  is  the  one  who  has 
never  revolted  against  himself  in  acknowledging  that  ten- 
dency of  his  mind  to  gravitate  towards  low  desires,  as  his 
feet  to  the  earth  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 

DODGE. 


MES.  GREATOREX  believed  that  "those  Browns" 
would  be  highly  gratified  by  a  call  from  the  rectory. 
She  felt  in  her  heart  that  it  was  a  condescension  on  her 
part,  which  ought  to  give  pleasure.  All  over  the  civilized 
world  is  there  not  an  anxiety  to  be  visited  by  the  right 
people  ;  that  is,  by  our  superiors  ?  Not  by  angels  or 
archangels,  understand,  but  by  rank  and  fashion.  And 
what  a  deal  of  trouble  we  take  to  accomplish  this  end  ! 
We  should  be  pretty  sure  of  entering  the  gates  of  heaven, 
if  we  practiced  the  same  humility,  self-control,  and  self- 
sacrifice  we  do  to  get  within  the  park  gates  of  the  greatest 
man  within  our  reach.  Not  that  this  bastard  sort  of 
hero-worship  makes  us  unnatural  in  our  afl'ections  or  dis- 
torts us  into  monsters  ;  its  worst  eficct  in  general,  being, 
the  making  us  poor-folks  forget,  not  our  humble  friends, 
but  to  cut  our  coat  according  to  our  cloth. 

Now  Mrs.  Greatorex,  a  lady  whoso  father  belonged  to 
one  of  those  fine  old  French  families  designated,  Les 
t/rands  chcvaux  de  Lorraine,  the  wife  of  a  reverend  gen- 
tleman of  family  and  fortune,  imagined,  and  as  tlic  world 
goes,  had  a  right  to  inuigino,  she  was  about  to  confer  a 
signal  favour  on  a  Mrs.  Brown,  who  apparently  had 
neither  fortune  nor  friends. 

"1  think,"  mused  Mrs.  Greatorex,  "that  she  is  proba- 
bly a  person  who  will  l)e  gratified  if  I  go  rather  smart." 

It  might  be  fur  that  reason  Mrs.  (jrcutorcx  put  on  her 
newest  bonnet  and  mantle,  or  it  might  be  that  she  was 


DODGE.  19 

unconsciously  iufluenced  by  having  heard,  or  read  of,  or 
felt  by  expericucc,  the  effect  produced  by  fine  feathers. 
As  she  walked  along  the  pretty  winding  road  across  the 
Lea,  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  thoir  younger  chil- 
dren romping  around  them,  making  the  "air  vocal" 
with  their  merry  voices,  the  pleasant  day  and  her  own 
pleasant  sensations  developed  in  the  bosom  of  the  rec- 
tor's wife  a  general  good  will,  extending  to  the  unknown 
neighbour  she  was  going  to  visit. 

"If  we  find  this  Mrs.  Brown  presentable,"  said  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  "we  might  ask  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lonsdale  to 
meet  her  at  our  house.  Mrs.  Lonsdale  likes  strangers, 
and  she  does  not  see  many  people  herself." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lonsdale  were  from  Australia;  compa- 
ratively, new  arrivals  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  just 
beginning  in  right  of  a  good  fortune  to  slip  into  country 
society. 

At  much  about  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Greatorex  was 
projecting  to  give  Mrs.  Brown  a  chance  of  more  new 
acquaintances,  Mrs.  Brown  was  lamenting  to  Hans,  in 
German,  the  probability  of  the  visit,  the  menace  of  which 
George  had  brought  her  from  Mrs.  Lescrimifere. 

Hans,  a  feather  brush  in  hand,  was  gravely  marching 
about  the  room  removing  the  dust  from  tables  and  chairs ; 
naturally,  Hans  being  single-handed  in  the  house,  had  to 
manage  to  keep  it  clean,  when  and  how  he  could.  He 
showed  that  he  heard  what  his  mistress  was  saying,  by 
an  occasional  sympathizing  smack  of  his  protruded  lips, 
or  the  holding  of  his  brush  interjectionally  aloft. 

"  All  our  quiet  gone,  and  I  thought  myself  so  sure  of 
being  avoided  if  I  did  not  go  to  church !"  added  Mrs. 
Brown  with  a  sigh. 

Hans  replied  by  putting  up  his  shoulders  and  drawing 
down  his  head  between  them  ;  then  with  a  "  chut,"  pointed 
his  brush  towards  the  window,  and  hurried  to  open  the 
door  to  the  rector  and  his  wife.  The  children  were  left 
on  the  lawn. 

The  ladies  made  a  nice  contrast.  Mrs.  Greatorex, 
small,  slight,  with  almost  a  girlish  figure,  a  pretty  bru- 
nette, with  bright  dark  eyes,  a  light  step  (French  in 
appearance  in  spite  of  her  English  education),  and  the 
manner  of  one  accustomed  to  the  first  place. 


20  SKIRMISHING. 

Mrs.  Brown,  tall,  large,  calm,  rather  indolent-looking, 
beautiful  to  a  degree  that  startled  her  visitors ; — great 
beauty  is  a  rare  sight.  As  one  freemason  discovers  a 
brother  by  signs  unknown  to  the  uninitiated,  so  does  one 
woman  instantly  perceive  when  another  belongs  by  right 
to  the  same  class  as  herself.  Mrs.  Greatorex  at  once 
understood  that  Mrs.  Brown  was  her  equal,  and  further, 
she  felt  satisfied,  as  immediately,  of  her  respectability; 
how  or  why  she  could  not  have  demonstrated  any  more 
than  she  could  have  given  reasons  for  detecting  under 
downcast  eyelids  and  faultless  dress,  the  woman  pas 
comme  ilfaut.  Habits  of  life  and  thought  write  on  the 
human  being,  as  the  sun  leaves  its  trace  on  everything  it 
touches — it  fades  some  and  brightens  others ;  our  daily 
habits  do  the  same  for  our  appearance. 

The  impression  Mrs.  Brown  received  was  agreeable 
and  equally  instantaneous ;  while  the  usual  phrases  with 
which  strangers  begin  to  make  acquaintance  with  one 
another  were  being  interchanged,  she  was  thinking  "how 
well  those  two  people  suit  each  other,  how  her  loveliness 
must  relieve  his  soberness." 

Mrs.  Greatorex,  though,  was  less  talkative  than  was 
her  wont;  she  was  pre-occupied  by  a  mental  calculation, 
Mrs.  Brown's  luxuriant  blue  black  hair,  her  clear  even 
complexion,  her  brilliant  teeth,  her  smooth,  well-coloured 
lips,  belonging  to  a  woman  of  fivc-and-twonty,  rather 
than  to  one  who  was  the  mother  of  a  lad  of  fifteen.  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  struggling  with  her  computations,  every  now 
and  then  lapsed  out  of  the  conversation.  Having  at  last 
settled  the  point  that  !Mrs.  Brown  could  not  be  less  than 
four  or  five-and-thirty,  Mrs.  Greatorex  roused  herself  to 
take  an  active  part  in  what  was  passing ;  and  the  first 
thing  she  heard  was  the  rector,  hoping  in  a  very  sincere 
voice  that  Mrs.  Brown  might  like  Eden,  "  though  it  was 
f|uiet,  it  did  not  usually  strike  strangers  as  dull."  How 
Mr.  Greatorex  is  talking,  just  as  if  Mrs.  Brown  had  been 
well  recommended  to  him  1  and  so  she  had.  Mr.  (Jrcat- 
orex's  eyes  had  lieen  busy  with  the  titles  of  books  lying 
on  the  table  before  him,  and  he  felt  almost  as  if  Mrs. 
Brown  had  shown  him  excellent  letters  of  introduc- 
tion. 

"We  must  not  go  too  fast,"  thought  Mrs.  Greatorex. 


DODGE.  21 

Mrs.  Brown  answered  Mr.  Greatorex,  "  I  came  here  to 
be  quiet.     George  needs  country  air." 

"  I  suppose  your  son  has  entirely  left  school,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Greatorex. 

"  He  has  never  been  at  school,"  returned  Mrs.  Brown  ; 
paused,  then  continued,  "  George  has  had  no  regular 
education  or  training ;  it  was  thought  best  to  let  him  do 
only  what  he  himself  asked  to  do — he  is  quite  untutored." 

"Is  he  under  medical  treatment?"  asked  Mrs.  Great- 
orex ;  great  interest  in  her  tone  and  look,  but  with  the 
ease  acquired  by  one  who  is  much  accustomed  to  go 
about  among  her  poorer  neighbours,  and  discuss  with 
them  their  private  concerns. 

Mrs.  Brown  answered  gently,  but  with  great  decision, 

"  He  requires  no  other  care  than  that  of  his  mother." 

"  He  is  a  great  musician,  I  hear,"  observed  Mrs.  Great- 
orex, her  eyes  on  a  grand  piano.  "We  are  all  great 
lovers  of  music." 

Conversation  languished  so  sadly  that  Mrs.  Greatorex's 
eyes  were  beginning  to  seek  those  of  her  husband  in  con- 
sultation as  to  ending  the  visit,  when  Charlie,  rushing 
across  the  lawn,  called  in  at  the  ojien  window, 

"  Mother,  mother,  do  come  and  see  !" 

"  I  dare  say  Georgey  is  feeding  the  birds,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown ;  "  that  is  it,  is  it  not  ?"  and  she  smiled  at  Charlie, 
whose  eyes  were  shining  with  eagerness. 

Mrs.  Brown's  voice  and  look  were  really  captivating 
when  she  spoke  to  the  boy. 

She  liked  children ;  that  was  clear  to  Mrs.  Greatorex. 

"Mamma  may  come,  mayn't  she,  Mrs.  Brown?"  said 
Charlie,  as  if  the  lady  had  been  an  old  friend  of  his. 

"Certainly;"  and  Mrs.  Brown  rose  to  lead  the  way, 
moving  slowly,  her  hand  on  the  little  boy's  shoulder, 
looking  down  on  his  handsome,  upraised  face,  as  he  told 
her  how  he  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  eyes  when  he 
saw  the  birds  out  of  the  trees  and  hedges  come  flying  at 
George's  whistle. 

"  You  won't  be  offended,  will  you,  Mrs.  Brown,  at  my 
calling  him  George ;  it  would  be  so  odd  to  call  a  fellow 
not  much  bigger  than  myself,  Mr.  Brown." 

"  Call  him  George,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

They  found  the  said  George  standing  in  one  of  the 


22  SKIRMISHING. 

grass  paths  of  the  kitchen  garden,  Carry  and  TVillie, 
pictures  of  delighted  amazement,  staring  with  all  their 
might  at  young  Brown,  who  was  throwing  bird-seed  into 
the  air,  which  some  dozen  chafiSnches  and  sparrows, 
fluttering  round  him,  caught  ere  it  fell  to  the  ground.* 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  tame  the  birds  so  ?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Greatorex,  as  the  boy,  after  throwing  one  more 
handful  to  his  pensioners,  made  a  little  bow  to  his 
mother's  visitors. 

"  That's  my  secret,"  replied  George. 

"  "Will  you  teach  me,  George  ?"  asked  Charlie,  adding, 
in  a  voice  deprecatory  of  offence,  "Mrs.  Brown  says  I 
may  call  you  George." 

"  Your  little  brother,"  said  George,  with  a  dry  laugh, 
and  looking  at  the  youngest  boy,  who,  with  his  arms 
crossed,  was  still  gazing  at  him  with  solemn  admiration, 
"  your  little  brother  has  just  christened  me  afresh.  He 
calls  me  Dodge." 

"  Poor  Willie  cannot  pronounce  all  his  letters  yet," 
explained  Mrs.  Greatorex. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  at  all  object  to  being  called  Dodge ; 
indeed,  I  rather  like  and  approve  of  it.  I  beg  you  will 
all  call  me  Dodge  in  future." 

As  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greatorex  were  taking  leave  of  Mrs. 
Brown  and  her  son,  Hans  came  forward  with  a  large 
nosegay  of  the  commonest  garden  flowers,  and  presented 
it  to  the  rector's  wife  with  a  profusion  of  bows  and 
smiles. 

"A  foreign  custom,"  said  Mrs.  Brown.  "  Excuse  the 
old  man  ;  if  there  had  been  only  daisies  and  poppies,  he 
would  have  thought  me  disgraced  had  he  let  you  quit  the 
garden  without  a  bouquet." 

"He  has  arranged  it  so  well,"  said  ISfrs.  Greatorex, 
"that  he  has  produced  an  admirable  artistic  effect.  I 
wish  he  could  impart  some  of  his  skill  to  us." 

Mrs.  Brown  turned  and  repeated  this  praise  to  Hans, 
who  spluttered  out  in  return  an  offer  of  his  services. 

When  they  had  left  the  Hatch  some  fifty  yards  behind, 

•Sorao  persons  having  donMcd  tlie  posslWlity  of  this  feat,  flicy  are 
hereby  Inf^rmpd  It  may  be  soon  performed  In  the  gardens  of  the 
TullerleK,  by  a  gentlemao  who  doeH  not  brook  being  interfered  trlth 
when  KO  engaged. 


DODGE.  23 

Mr.  Greatorcx  broke  tlie  silence  with  a  "  Well !"  Mrs. 
Greatorex  replied  with  another  "  Well  !"  one  in  which 
there  was  still  more  of  interrogation  than  in  that  of  her 
husband. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  been,  as  the  saying  is,  agree- 
ably disappointed,"  said  the  rector. 

"She  must  have  been  beautiful,"  said  the  rector's  lady. 

"  She  is  beautiful,  my  dear,"  returned  the  gentleman. 

"  Strange  her  coming  here,"  observed  the  lady. 

"  Stranger,  than  if  she  had  been  plain  ?"  asked  the 
rector,  slyly. 

"  Frankly,  I  should  not  have  thought  it  so  odd  had  she 
been  an  ordinary-looking  person,"  answered  Mrs.  Great- 
orex. She  was  silent  for  a  little,  then  said, — "I  suppose, 
though,  she  has  really  and  truly  come  here  on  account  of 
that  odd  boy;  I  decidedly  don't  like  him.  I  hope  he 
won't  do  Charlie  any  harm  :  by  the  way,  where  are  the 
children  ?     I  thought  they  had  followed  us." 

There  was  no  trace  of  them. 

"They  must  have  run  back  again,"  said  Mr.  Greato- 
rex. "  Poor  little  souls,  they  are  delighted  with  the 
novelty  of  such  a  young  original  as  that  Master  Dodge; 
we  can  send  for  them  if  they  don't  come  home  soon." 

Maud  had  not  accompanied  her  father  and  mother  to 
the  Hatch,  out  of  deference  to  Escott's  evident  repug- 
nance to  the  Browns. 

"  What  had  I  better  do,  grandmamma  ?"  she  had 
asked. 

Lately,  that  is,  since  she  had  loved  Escott,  Maud  had 
taken  the  habit  of  rather  consulting  her  grandmother  on 
little  difficulties  of  conduct,  than  her  mother.  Maud  was 
incapable  of  imagining  •'  mamma"  could  be  wrong ;  it  was 
not  a  preference,  but  an  instinct  which  guided  her  to 
where  she  would  have  her  newly-doveloped  want  of  sym- 
pathy supplied.  Mrs.  Greatorex  had  never  in  her  life, 
suSered — never  had  had  any  occasion  to  be  uneasy  as  to 
how  she  should,  or  should  not  act,  or  been  anxious  as  to 
the  effect  she  might  produce  on  others.  She  could  not, 
of  course,  be  blind  or  deaf  to  the  existence  of  suffering  in 
others ;  nor  was  she  unmerciful,  or  unwilling  to  help.,  but 
she  always  had  a  private  belief  that  it  was,  on  the  whole, 
"  people's  own  doing— people's  own  fault,"  Avhen  they  got 


24  SKIRMISHING 

into  trouble ;  whereas,  in  Mrs.  Lcscriniifere,  there  was  a 
breadth  and  depth  of  sympathy,  and  pity,  and  forgiveness, 
quite  out  of  the  common — the  misery  or  the  anguish 
always  hid  from  her  the  fault,  if  fault  there  was.  "Whether 
great  or  small  the  distress,  her  ears,  her  heart,  her  judg- 
ment were  ready  for  any  applicant,  and  without  any  of 
that  flattering  complaisance  sometimes  mistaken  for  sym- 
pathy. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  grandmamma  ?"  then  had  Maud 
inquired,  in  the  certainty  of  her  little  dilemma  being 
treated  with  attention. 

"  It's  always  stupid,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  "  to  give 
unnecessary  pain  to  one  that  loves  us ;  and  it's  not  a 
matter  of  duty  your  calling  on  Mrs.  Brown  ?  Escott  has 
really  a  good  heart,  all  his" — the  old  lady  hesitated  for  a 
word — "  hardness  will  vanish  with  more  experience  ;  he 
is  strong  enough  to  grow  more  merciful,  my  dear ;  yes,  I 
am  sure  he  will ;  let's  thank  God,  he  is  not  weak  :"  and  so 
Maud  did  not  go  to  the  Hatch. 

The  children  came  home  full  of  talcs  of  the  delights 
of  the  Hatch,  llans  had  made  them  the  most  delicious, 
tiny  sugar-cakes.     'J'hey  liked  Mrs,  Brown  very  much. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Greatorex  said  to 
Escott, 

"We  paid  a  visit  to  your  bugbears  to-day,  and  my 
wife  found  out  two  good  qualities  in  Mrs.  Brown."  Mrs. 
Greatorex  stared.  The  rector  went  on — "  Mrs.  Brown 
likes  children  and  cleanliness.  I  saw  how  Mrs.  Greato- 
rex looked  over  and  under  the  furniture,  and  then  nodded 
her  head  approvingly.  I  understand  her  ways.  We  like 
Mrs.  Bromn." 

Escott,  with  a  very  grave  face,  said, 

"  I  am  glad  you  liave  been  pleased ;"  his  voice 
sounded  much  more  like,  "I  am  sorry  you  have  been 
pleased." 

Garry  kept  diligently  by  the  curate's  side;  he  was 
rather  fonder  of  her  than  of  the  other  young  ones. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  ine.  Carry  ?"  he  said  at  last. 

"  1  have  a  secret  to  tell  you," she  answered  ;  "you  must 
come  into  the  torner,  and  not  let  any  one  hear." 

With  lior  fresh,  rosy  lips  close  to  his  car,  she  confided 
to  him  that  she  had  told  Dodge, 


CnURCII-QOING   AND   HOP-PICKING.  25 

"  That's  young  Mr.  Brown,  you  know,  Willie  called  him 
so,  that  he  was  naughty  not  to  come  to  church." 

"Ay,  and  what  did  he  say  to  that,  Carry?" 

"He  said  he  should  go  to  sleep  if  he  did;  and  I  told 
him  that  didn't  matter,  for  grandmamma  always  went  to 
sleep  in  the  sermon,  and  Willie  snored  quite  loud  some- 
times ;  and  so  Dodge  said  I  was  a  good  little  girl,  and 
perhaps  he  might  come  next  Sunday,  to  please  me,  if  I 
promised  you  wouldn't  frown  at  him  ;  and  now,  you  won't 
look  cross,  will  you,  dear  ?"  and  she  kissed  him. 

"  I  won't  be  bribed,"  said  Escott. 

"  Oh  !  but  you  must ;  do  promise,  that  Dodge  may 
learn  to  be  good." 

"Very  well.     I  will  not  even  look  at  your  new  friend." 

"I  say,  mother,"  here  cried  out  Charlie,  "I  forgot  to 
tell  you  Dodge's  father  is  dead." 

"  How  do  you  know  anything  about  that  ?"  said  hia 
mother. 

"  Carry  asked  him  where  his  father  was,  and  he  said  he 
hadn't  one." 

"  Ah  I  well,  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,  poor  boy,"  replied 
Mrs.  Greatorex  ;  and  tlacn  in  a  low  voice  to  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere,  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  we  know  that  much,  however. 
It  sets  my  mind  at  rest  as  to  some  things." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CBURCH-GOING  AND  HOP-PICKING. 

THE  next  Sunday,  the  curate  and  Maud  were,  as  usual, 
following  the  school  children  into  church,  when  they 
became  aware  by  an  unmistakeable  laugh  that  young 
Brown  was  near.  The  boy  was  under  one  of  the  old 
yews  with  Larry  Earl ;  Escott  remembering  his  promise 
to  Carry,  did  not  turn  his  head  that  way. 

The  Hatch  pew  was  close  to  the  reading-desk,  and  the 
curate,  who  always  read  the  morning  prayers,  saw  that 
Mrs.  JJrown  was  there.  Dodge  waited  outside  till  the 
words  "  Dearly  beloved,"  before  he  came  with  his  jaunty 
step  up  the  aisle,  creating  a  general  titter  among  the 
girls  and  boys  as  he  did  so. 

3 


26  SKIRMISHINa 

What  better  time  than  this  to  give  a  description  of  the 
Rev.  AValter  Escott?  He  never  looks  better  than  he 
does  in  his  ample  snovr-white  surplice.  He  is  of  middle 
height,  slight,  with  a  thin,  dark  face ;  his  forehead  well 
developed  makes  him  seem  older  than  he  is ;  his  eyes  are 
hazel ;  his  features  are  good  ;  his  face  full  of  expression. 
He  possesses  in  perfection  that  summum  bonum  to  a  man 
whose  duty  it  is  to  persuade  hearts — a  beautiful  voice. 
"He  draws  the  heart  out  of  me,"  was  how  old  Miss  Earl 
described  the  effect  he  produced  on  her.  "  It  was  quite 
another  thing,"  she  averred,  "  to  hear  Mr.  Greatorex  read 
the  prayers,  or  Mr.  Escott." 

Curiously  enough,  the  curate  disliked  to  have  his  voice 
or  delivery  admired  ;  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  be  mono- 
tonous. Any  c^uphasis  or  change  of  tone  in  reading  the 
Scriptures  or  the  Prayer-book,  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of 
sacrilege.  He  leaned  to  the  opinion  of  the  old  dame  who 
boxed  her  grandson's  ears  for  not  reading  the  Bible  in 
his  Bible  voice,  i.  e.,  in  a  nasal,  drowsy  sing-song.  How- 
ever, with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  Walter  Escott  could 
not  destroy  the  charm  of  his  voice  and  accent ;  and  while 
the  curate  spoke,  George  Brown,  whose  strongest  taste 
was  for  music,  forgot  to  fidget  and  stare  about  him.  He 
went  into  a  sound  sleep  during  Mr.  Greatorex's  sermon. 

The  rectory  was  jubilant  at  this  appearance  of  Mrs. 
Brown.  Mrs.  Greatorex,  in  particular,  rejoiced  as  over 
a  new  convert,  saying, — 

"I  am  glad  we  went  to  see  her;  now  my  mind  is  quite 
at  rest.  She  has  been  so  long  out  of  England,  that  per- 
haps she  thought  it  was  etiquette  not  to  come  to  church 
until  we  had  called." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  was  in  that  mood  when  wo  arc  ready  to 
give  to  the  person  who  has  procured  us  a  heartfelt  satis- 
faction, an  unlimited  credit  of  good  reasons  for  the  con- 
duct tliat  has  iiithcrto  dis])]oasod  us.  Even  though 
neither  Mrs.  J5rowu  nor  Dodge  attended  afternoon  ser- 
vice, Mrs.  Greatorex  again  repeated  that  "  her  mind  was 
now  at  rest." 

'I'iio  sinqile  explanation  was,  that  Mrs.  Brown  having 
found  that  staying  from  church  was  no  safeguard  from 
visitors,  saw  no  reason  why  she  sliould  I'urtlier  expose 
herself  to  the  charge  of  being  a  lieathen,  or  worse. 


CHURCH-GOING   AND   HOP-PICKING.  27 

Mrs.  Greatorcx  advised  Escott  to  call  at  the  Hatch. 
"  I  assure  you,  I  think  we  shall  find,  at  least,  Mrs.  Brown 
a  pleasant  neighbour;  and  there  is  no  reason  now  to  avoid 
her." 

Escott  in  his  own  mind  said  something  not  compli- 
mentary to  the  steadiness  of  woman's  judgment :  but  on 
reconsidering  the  matter,  he  blamed  himself  for  expect- 
ing that  which  nature  had  denied  to  the  weaker  sex : 
being  of  the  nobler  gender,  this  appearance  at  church 
had  not  diminished  his  antipathy.  Nevertheless,  as  he 
had  on  the  whole  a  respect  for  Mrs.  Grcatorex,  arising 
principally,  it  must  be  owned,  from  her  opinions  being 
much  influenced  by  his,  he  condescended  to  her  wishes ; 
and  putting  his  card-case  into  his  pocket,  and  trying  to 
stifle  his  unneighbourly  feelings,  presented  himself  at  the 
Hatch.  Hans  shook  his  head,  explanatory  of  the  cour- 
teous  assurance  given  in  German,  "of  his  regret  that  no 
one  was  at  home." 

Within  a  few  days  a  card,  M'ith  Mr.  George  Brown 
written  in  a  cramped  hand,  appeared  on  Escott's  writ- 
ing-table. The  day  Mrs.  Brown  chose  for  returning 
Mrs.  Greatorex's  call  and  subsequent  one  from  Mrs. 
Lescriraifere,  it  happened  that  all  the  rectory  family  had 

gone  to  Z .    And  at  this  point  of  interchange  of 

visits,  the  intercourse  between  the  Greatorexes  and  the 
Browns  stopped ;  greatly  owing  to  Mrs.  Brown's  reserve 
and  obstinate  retirement,  but  partly  due  also  to  a  new 
alarm  taken  by  Mrs.  Greatorex,  as  to  the  dangers  for 
her  children  of  any  intimacy  with  George.  This  was  how 
it  was. 

Harvest  was  over,  and  merrymakings  were  the  order 
of  the  season.  "  Many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid"  passed 
the  better  part  of  the  night  in  dancing,  though  they  had 
to  be  a-field  by  cock-crow;  and  rumors  reached  the 
rector's  lady,  through  the  gossip  of  Eden  ^jar  excellence, 
that  George  Brown  made  one  at  these  jocund  meetings. 
This  gossip,  who  had  decided  opinions  as  to  the  necessity 
of  the  use  of  the  rod,  put  the  query  to  Mrs.  Greatorex 
whether  she  thought  the  young  gentleman's  mannna  could 
be  aware  of  such  improper  condescension. 

Mrs.  Greatorex,  in  reporting  the  news  to  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere,  said,  "  Indeed,  and  she  had  more  than  half  a  mind 


28  SKIRMISHING. 

to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns,"  (a  flight  of  fancy  on  the 
fair  speaker's  part,  for  she  was  a  timid  woman,  and  terri- 
fied even  for  a  cow,)  "  and  go  and  talk  to  Mrs.  Brown  of 
those  so-said  misdemeanors  of  her  son ;  or,  better  still,  if 
she  could  fall  in  with  Master  Dodge  himself,  she  would 
give  him  a  sound  lecture,  and  ask  him  if  he  wanted  com- 
panions or  partners,  why  he  did  not  rather  seek  them  at 
the  rectory." 

In  thus  finishing  her  sentence,  Mrs.  Greatorex's  con- 
science gave  her  a  little  prick,  and  said  very  softly  that 
she  had  not  been  very  willing  to  afford  the  lad  a  choice 
of  associates.  "We  do  occasionally  accuse  folks  of  not 
benefiting  by  opportunities  we  have  not  given  them. 
Mrs.  Lescrimifere  had  answered,  "  When  you  come  to 
inquire,  my  dear,  you'll  find  this  story  only  another  of 
your  gossip's  bottle  of  smoke.  The  Italian  proverb  is 
safe  to  follow :  '  Believe  the  half  of  the  half  of  what  you 
hear.' " 

Shortly  after,  Mrs.  Greatorc.x  had  a  chance  meeting 
with  George  Brown  in  Farmer  Earl's  hop-garden.  A 
hop-garden  in  a  good  year  is  a  pretty  sight :  every 
woman  and  child  in  the  parish  goes  hop-gathering;  the 
money  they  thus  gain  provides  them  with  clothing. 
Mothers  carry  with  them  their  six -weeks' -old  babies, 
and  make  beds  for  them  on  the  ground  close  to  their 
hop-baskets;  boys  and  girls,  from  three  years  old  and 
upwards,  pick  with  all  the  might  of  their  little  fingers. 
Only  so  many  men  as  are  requisite  to  pull  up  the  poles 
and  supply  the  pickers  with  the  hop-bind,  are  allowed  in 
the  garden. 

Hop-picking  was  a  time  of  rejoicing  for  the  rectory 
children,  and  all  of  them,  under  the  charge  of  the  gover- 
ness, had  gone  early  to  where  the  i)icking  was  going  on. 
Airs.  Greatorc.x  and  ]\laud  went  to  join  them  later. 
George  Brown's  merry  laugh  reached  the  two  ladies  as 
they  were  seeking  the  children  :  there  he  was,  behind 
Jemima  AVhite,  flirting  vigorously  with  her,  and  Eben 
Hart  dragging  a  loaded  pole  past  tlieni,  looking  as  ])lack 
as  thunder.  (Jeorgc  was  lu'li)ing  Jemima  to  pull  on  a 
pair  of  gloves,  to  do  wliich  he  was  on  his  kMiees,  with  his 
arms  round  her  waist.  He  nodded,  in  tlie  most  unabashed 
manner,  to  the  rector's  wife  and  daughter,  who  passed  on 
with  very  still  bows. 


CHURCH-GOING   AND   HOP-PICKING.  2S 

To  explain  George's  action,  it  is  necessary  to  state 
that  hop-gatherers  always  beg  for  old  gloves  from  the 
gentry  in  the  vicinity,  to  save  the  skin  of  their  hands 
Irom  being  stained  or  torn ;  and  young  Brown  had  been 
giving  away  some  cheap  new  gloves  to  most  of  the  girls, 
at  which  generosity  many  of  the  older  women  shook  their 
heads  mournfully. 

"  Dodge  is  going  to  give  them  all  tea,"  cried  Carry, 
running  to  her  mother;  "Mrs.  Goodeve  is  getting  it 
ready,  and  such  lots  of  cakes."  And  before  her  mother 
could  restrain  her,  Carry  was  by  George's  side.  Pre- 
sently, there  he  was,  with  the  help  of  the  rectory  young 
ones,  carrying  cups  of  tea  to  the  elderly  ladies  he  had  so 
scandalized. 

"  I  cannot  make  that  boy  out,"  sighed  Mrs.  Greatorex ; 
"  however,  as  he  is  doing  a  kindness,  let  us  go  and  speak 
to  him,  Maud." 

As  they  were  making  their  way  over  prostrate  poles, 
wreathed  with  a  more  gracefully  luxuriant  vine  than  even 
that  -which  produces  the  grape,  the  ladies  met  Farmer 
Earl,  girdled  with  long  bits  of  narrow  wood,  like  so  many 
skewers.  He  was  stooping  before  one  group  after  another, 
and  cutting  notches  on  these  tallies  and  corresponding 
ones  on  that,  each  hop-picker  presented  to  him.  Be  it 
known  to  those  who  were  never  in  a  hop  country,  that 
the  notches  on  the  tallies  were  by  way  of  a  memorandum 
of  the  number  of  baskets  filled  by  each  individual.  Far- 
mer Earl's  appearance  merits  a  line  or  two.  It  proclaimed 
him  one  of  the  lords  of  creation  by  nature's  patent  of 
nobility.  A  man  hale  and  hearty,  and  though  sixty,  with 
eyes  as  bright,  colour  as  fresh,  step  as  firm  as  though  he 
had  been  only  thirty.  His  was  an  open,  frank  English 
face,  a  little,  a  very  little  irony  lurked  in  the  smile  that 
lay  habitually  on  his  lips ;  it  was  the  sole  outward  mark 
left  by  the  hardships  and  disappointments  of  life,  which 
spare  no  class,  lie  was  very  popular  among  his  labourers, 
saying  "  No,"  and  acting  as  though  he  had  said  "  Yes  ;" 
in  fact,  unable  to  refuse  help  to  any  who  asked  it  of  him. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  not  a  very  prosperous 
man. 

Mr.  Earl  liked  the  rector's  children,  in  right  of  having 
dandled  them  all  when  babies :  in  right  of  being  one  of 


30  SKIRMISHING. 

the  principal  tithe-payers,  and  of  liis  office  as  parish 
church-warden,  he  was  (though  his  heart  inclined  to  him) 
always  a  little  refractory  with  the  rector  himself.  In 
fact.  Farmer  Earl  held  the  proud  position  of  leader  of 
the  opposition  in  Eden  ;  he  would  not  be  a  less  man  than 
the  carpenter,  Stephen  Amos,  the  parson's  church-warden 
and  prime  minister.  Eden,  nevertheless,  was  a  pattern 
parish  for  peace  and  goodwill. 

"  A  good  year  for  hops,  Mr.  Earl,"  began  Mrs.  Greato- 
rex,  as  the  farmer  presented  Miss  Maud  with  a  glorious 
bunch  of  hops. 

"Well,  an'  so  it  be,  ma'am;  but  we  are  bound,  you 
know,  to  be  satisfied  with  the  bad  as  well  as  the  good. 
It  all  comes  from  the  same  hand.  As  I  says,  what's  the 
use  of  complaining  " — what  a  fine  twang  Eden  folks  be- 
stow on  that  word,  letters  won't  give  the  sound — "  com- 
plaining, it  won't  keep  the  honey,  nor  yet  the  fly  from  the 
hops,  will  it  now  ?  if  it  wud,  there'd  be  some  advantage 
in  flying  out ;  as  it  be,  I  sees  none,  no  more  I  do,  ma'am." 

'•  I  always  say,  you  are  one  of  the  most  reasonable 
men  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Grcatorex,  "and  that  is  why  I 
am  about  to  ask  you  for  your  opinion.  You  sec  young 
Brown  very  often.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  him ;  would  he  be  a  proper  companion  for  Master 
Charles  ?" 

Tlie  smile  on  Earl's  lips  grew  broader  as  he  replied. 

"  Law,  bless  you !  what  a  young  gentleman  for  fun  that 
be ;  he'd  make  a  cat  split  his  sides  with  laughing,  he 
would ;  he  ain't  no  harm  in  him,  bless  you,  nothing  worse 
anyhow  than  a  lilllc  quizzicalncss  like  as  to  some  folk; 
it  comes  downright  natural  to  the  lad  to  laugh.  I  sees 
he  can't  help  it ;  he  don't  use  bad  language,  never ;  he 
don't  drink,  won't  touch  a  drop  of  beer,  let  alone  spirits ; 
he  don't  care  for  mucli  as  I  makes  out  'cept  amusing 
hisself.     My  sister's  terrible  fond  of  him,  sure." 

Here  some  urchins  who  had  been  waiting  for  the 
farmer  to  nick  their  tallies,  at  last  succeeded  in  catching 
his  eye. 

"Ah  !  you  have  filled  your  basket,  have  you?"  and  he 
accepted  the  basket  as  full,  which  certainly  was  not  so, 
and  plnrod  the  stick  so  eagerly  held  up  to  liim  against  its 
fellow  hanging  to  his  girdle,  and  gave  it  the  eagerly-de- 
sired notch. 


CHURCH-GOINQ   AND   HOP-PICKING.  31 

Mrs.  Greatorex  did  not  feel  justified  in  renewing  the 
conversation  about  George,  and  walked  on.  Presently 
she  observed  to  Maud, — 

"  T  begin  to  believe,  putting  one  thing  and  another 
together,  that  that  boy  must  be  weak-minded ;  that's  the 
only  way  I  can  satisfactorily  explain  what  looks  so 
strange  in  mother  and  son." 

"  I  can't  think  so,  mamma,  he  has  such  fine  bright  eyes,'* 
said  Maud. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear,  fine  eyes  have  nothing  to  do  with  san- 
ity. I  don't  mean  to  say  he  is  exactly  mad,  only  a  little 
old ;  a  great  many  people  who  go  loose  about  the  world, 
would  be  the  better  for  being  undej"  surveillance  ;  if  they 
were,  many  crimes  would  never  be  committed  that  are 
committed.  No  reasonable  mother  would  keep  a  boy  of 
that  age  idle  at  home,  unless  there  were  some  good 
cause." 

Maud  made  no  answer.  She  knew,  and  every  one  inti- 
mate with  INIrs.  Greatorex  knew,  that  it  was  her  favou- 
rite theory  that  great  criminals  were  mad,  and  that  any 
conduct  for  which  she  could  not  find  a  reason,  was  the 
eflect  of  a  disordered  intellect.  It  was  the  shape  the  be- 
nevolence took,  which  she  had  inherited  from  her  mother. 
Mrs.  Lescrimifere  would  say,  "  one  does  not  know  what 
misfortune,  or  temptation,  or  indeed  accident,  may  have 
led  to  error ;  what  fearful  circumstance  plunged  a  crea- 
ture into  crime  ;  till  I  do,  I  don't  judge,  I  grieve."  Mrs. 
Greatorex  could  not  suspend  her  judgment;  with  her, 
wrong  was  wrong,  to  be  condemned  and  punished  as 
such — temptation  could  always  be  overcome.  St.  Paul 
had  said  so.  She  crept  out  of  the  severe  consequences  of 
her  own  sentence  by  laying  the  blame  on  disease. 

Pre-occupied  by  her  own  supposition,  Mrs.  Greatorex 
sought  George,  and  was  so  motlicrly  and  pleasant  in  her 
manner  to  him,  that  the  mocking  spirit  by  which  he 
seemed  possessed  was  for  the  present  exorcised.  A  face 
shining  with  benevolence,  and  lips  speaking  kind  words, 
are  surer  weapons  against  evil  spirits  than  book,  and  bell, 
and  holy  water  to  boot. 

The  rector's  wife  and  George  walked  amicably  through 
the  hop-garden ;  he  talked  to  her  pretty  much  as  any 
rational  boy  of  his  age  might  have  done.     Mrs.  Greato- 


82  SKIRMISHING. 

rex,  however,  did  not  make  use  of  this  favorable  oppor 
tunity  for  taking  the  bull  by  the  horns,  as  she  had 
declared  she  would  ;  she  did — as  most  of  us  do,  when  the 
question  is  to  repeat  face  to  face,  what  we  have  said  or 
heard  behind  backs, — executed  some  skilful  passes  of 
fence,  by  which  she  managed  to  extract  from  Master 
Dodge,  for  her  own  and  the  reader's  satisfaction,  that  he 
had  only  been  to  the  harvest  homes  of  Farmer  Earl  and 
of  Farmer  Croft,  who  lived,  indeed,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  ill-famed  common,  but  on  that  occasion  Hans  had 
gone  with  his  young  master. 

Mrs.  Greatores  boasted  not  a  little  as  to  this  matter, 
and  of  how  she  had  carried  off  the  youth  from  the  aitrac- 
tions  of  hop-picking. 

"It  all  depends,"  she  said,  "on  the  way  one  takes.  I 
remember  an  old  Scotchman  telling  me  that  the  worst 
method  of  doing  good  was  that  of  always  running  counter 
to  people's  ideas  or  fancies ;  it  was  like  rubbing  a  cat's 
fur  the  Avrong  way  ;  it  made  sparks  fly  out." 

"In  other  words,  you  recommend  coaxing,"  said  Mr. 
Greatorex,  laughing. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  did  not  condescend  to  hear,  but  went 
on, — 

"  When  I  am  puzzled  by  what  I  see,  I  confess  I  can't 
rest  till  I  have  solved  the  difficulty.  I  believe  Mrs. 
Brown  is  to  be  pitied,  not  blamed." 

"  I  confess,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  "  the  readiness  with 
which  good  Christians  suspect  their  neighbors  does  sur- 
prise me." 

"Come,  come,  grandmamma,"  interposed  Mr.  Greato- 
rex. "We  are  not  pruliihited  from  using  our  judgment 
as  to  the  words  and  actions  of  men.  What  we  are  for- 
bidden to  do,  is  to  attribute  bad  molives  1o  what  may 
not  be  clear  to  us,  or  to  any  act  wliicli  is  undeniably  good 
in  itself." 

"'J'oo  fine-drawn  for  my  intellects,  most  reverend  son  ; 
it  is  said  without  any  pros  or  cons.  Judge  not." 

"Shall  I  give  you  an  exam])le  of  what  I  mean  ?"  asked 
Mr.  (ireatorcx,  his  eye  laughing  roguishly. 

"Sonietliing  at  my  expense,  probably,"  returned  Mrs 
Lescrimiijre  ;  "  however,  let  us  have  it." 

"As  when  the  other  evening,  you  remember,  you  aa 


CHURCH-GOINQ   AND   HOP-PICKING.  33 

cribed  to  Eiiffland  as  a  motive  for  her  noble  war  with 
France,  a  desire  to  destroy  liberty  in  that  country." 

"  And  did  not  the  i:)olicy  of  England  justify  the  impu 
tation  ?"  asked  ]Mrs.  Lescriniifere,  boiling  up  directly. 
"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about.  1  recollect 
what  you  cannot.  I  am  twenty  or  thirty  years  older  than 
you.  1  heard  things  discussed  in  my  childhood  as  daily 
matters  of  interest  which  you  only  know  cursorily,  and 
from  English  accounts  of  them.  I  say  again,  that  England 
in  setting  herself  against  the  desire  of  liberty  in  France, 
caused  the  Reign  of  Terror.'' 

"  Grandmamma  !"  exclaimed  Maud. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  it's  very  shocking,  and  very  true.  It 
was  the  coalition  of  Europe  against  France  which  forced 
the  French  to  raise  fourteen  armies,  which,  without  bread 
or  shoes,  were  victorious  armies,  that  beat  your  coalition 
— it  was  the  horrible  pressure  from  without  that  brought 
forth  the  Reign  of  Terror,  and  all  the  other  abominations 
of  that  period.  If  the  poor  French  had  been  allowed  to 
change  their  bad  government  for  a  good  one,  been  allowed 
to  obtain  the  freedom  they  wanted  and  had  a  right  to, 
why  we  should  not  have  had  Napoleon  the  First,  he  grew 
out  of  that  state  of  things.  We  should  not  have  had  the 
Peninsular  war.  I  should  not  have  been  the  daughter  of 
one  Frenchman  and  the  wife  of  another ;  nor  you  had 
your  large  black  eyes,  Miss  Maud.  Don't  you  side 
against  France,  child ;  your  best  feature  comes  from 
thence."  By  this  time  Mrs.  Lescrimi6re  had  lost  all  her 
heat,  and  laughed  her  own  most  charming  laugh  at  her 
vehemence. 

In  spite  of  the  contending  elements  which  it  cannot  be 
denied  were  to  be  found  in  the  characters  of  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere  and  the  Oreatorexes,  there  could  hardly  have  been 
discovered  in  all  England  a  more  sincerely  united,  amiable, 
and  upright  family.  But  a  truce  to  panegyrics.  It  is  the 
duty  of  the  teller  of  a  story  to  allow  his  principal  per- 
sonages to  develop  themselves  in  action,  and  modestly 
confine  himself  to  giving  as  agreeable  a  picture  of  their 
persons  as  is  consistent  with  truth. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  has  been  already  depicted:  a  pretty 
brunette,  not  above  forty,  and  looking  still  younger.  She 
liked  to  be  told  she  was  often  mistaken  for  Maud's  elder 


34  SKIRMISHING 

sister.  Of  course  there  were  ill-conditioned  individuals 
who  held  that  this  was  a  weakness,  and  that  to  be 
thoroughly  consistent  with  her  position  as  the  wife  of  an 
elderly  rector,  and  the  mother  of  a  young  lady  on  the  eve 
of  marriage,  it  would  have  been  Mrs.  Greatorex's  duty  to 
look  as  old  as  possible.  To  this  view  of  her  duty  as  a 
wife  and  mother,  Mrs.  Greatorex  demurred. 

Maud  was  perhaps  less  French-looking  than  her  mother, 
still  her  appearance  also  betrayed  a  foreign  origin.  Her 
large  black  eyes  were  fringed  by  lashes  longer  and  thicker 
than  is  often  seen  round  English  orbs ;  and  she  had  also 
a  trifle  of  the  squareness  of  the  French  face.  Her  ex- 
pression was  that  of  her  father,  the  same  placidity,  the 
same  smile,  and  also  that  which  is  very  pretty  in  a  woman, 
but  odiously  troublesome  in  a  man, 

"  A  dimpled  chin, 
Made  for  love  to  lodge  in." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  was  peculiarly  graceful  in  all  her  move- 
ments, whereas  iNlaud  had  occasionally  a  little  rustic 
gaucherie  about  her,  not  uiipleasing,  denoting  as  it  did 
the  never  having  been  broken  into  the  life  of  a  fashion- 
able young  lady.  Maud  was  very  pretty  in  her  cvery-day 
dress ;  she  might  have  passed  unnoticed  in  a  ball-room. 
She  had  nothing  of  what  her  grandmotlicr  called  "  tour- 
nure."  Her  parents  thought  her  perfect,  her  brothers 
and  sisters  loved  her,  admired  her,  and  plagued  her  in 
tolerably  equal  proportion ;  the  whole  parish,  school- 
children included,  spoke  well  of  Miss  Maud.  It  was  amid 
such  genial  surroulHlin^•s  that  Escott  had  seen  and,  ap- 
preciating her,  had  sought  her  liand. 

It  was  on  that  occasion  that  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  for  the 
first  time  tliought  hrr  dear  Maud  no  wiser  than  other  girls. 
Mrs.  Lescriniifcre  had  her  theories  about  husbands,  Escott 
his  about  wives,  'i'iiis  was  what  passed  between  the 
grandmother  and  lover,  when  he  was  talifing  over  his 
happiness  to  the  old  lady.  "Maud,"  he  said  lastly,  "  is 
indeed  all  that  a  man  could  desire  in  the  woman  lie  selects 
to  be  the  mother  of  his  children.  1  am  sure,  that  with 
her  I  shall  have  in  my  home  an  atmosphere  of  purity  and 
peace,  which  will  be  as  an  elixir  to  re-invigorate  my 
spirit,  when  it  is  fretted  l)y  that  contact  with  folly  and 
misery  it  is  my  business  to  seek." 


CHURCn-GOING  AND   HOP-PICKING.  35 

It  was  an;ainst  Escott's  opinions  as  to  the  life  of  a 
clergyman,  this  falling  in  love  and  marrying,  and  he  was, 
in  thus  speaking,  not  expressing  his  feelings,  but  making 
out  a  good  case  as  to  himself  for  himself.  Mrs.  Lcscri- 
mifere  took  him  at  his  own  word.  If  people  only  under- 
stood in  time  that  they  will  often  be  judged  rather  by 
their  silly  words  than  their  wise  actions,  it  would  save 
many  a  heartache.  This,  by  the  way,  as  Mrs.  Lescrimifere 
did  nothing  further  to  show  her  disapproval  of  the  man 
of  her  grand-daughter's  choice  than  to  say,  somewhat 
testily, 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  provide  Maud  with,  in  return 
for  the  elixir  she  is  always  to  be  conjuring  for  you  ?" 

"  I  hope  to  make  her  happy,"  returned  Escott,  taken 
aback. 

*'  I  don't  ask  you  how,"  had  retorted  Mrs.  Lescrimifere, 
"because  if  she  sees  you  contented  she'll  be  in  the 
seventh  heaven ;  but  be  generous,  Mr.  Escott,  do,  pray 
do  sometimes  remember  to  be  grateful  for  that  said 
elixir." 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  would  have  been  vastly  better  pleased 
had  Escott  favoured  her  with  the  raptures  of  a  young 
man's  love  ;  but  she  was  mistaken  in  believing  him  to  be 
egotistical  and  cold-blooded.  She  had  the  warm  tempera- 
ment of  the  south,  and  he  the  reserved  nature  of  a 
thorough  Briton.  Independently  of  the  peculiar  ascetic 
notions  above  alluded  to,  he  disliked  and  despised  all 
shows  of  emotion,  almost  as  much  in  women,  as  in  men. 
He  considered  them,  to  say  the  least,  tiresome,  and  he 
fell  into  the  common  error,  that  a  strong  expression  of 
feeling  was  a  proof  that  the  feeling  itself  was  superficial. 
He  was,  in  truth,  extremely  fond  of  Maud,  but  he  could 
not  have  endured  to  have  that  fact  passing  from  lip  to 
lip,  universally  commented  on,  universally  joked  about. 
The  best  jokes,  or  rather  the  easiest  to  make,  the  surest 
of  provokiug  a  laugh,  are  they  not  on  the  most  serious 
subjects  ?  He  knew  that  he  loved  her,  and  she  ought  to 
be  sure  of  that.  Is  not  one  heart  aware  of  the  tide  of 
feeling  rolling  to  it  from  another  heart  without  words 
spoken  ? 

There  is  a  small  person  who  must  not  be  quite  over- 
looked in  any  description  of  the  inmates  of  the  rectory ; 


36  SKIRMISHING 

grandmamma's  darling,  papa's  pet,  eleven  years  old  Carry 
— Carry  of  the  dove-like  eyes,  blue  eyes  ■with  large  droop- 
ing lids.  Often  the  mother  would  call  the  father  to  come 
and  look  at  her  asleep.  There  was  always  a  smile  on  her 
face  when  she  slept,  as  if  the  "  Guardian  Angel"  (a  large 
engraving  representing  one,  hung  at  the  head  of  Carry's 
bed),  was  speaking  pleasant  things  to  her  in  slumber. 

Of  the  rector  himself  any  description  may  be  spared. 
He  is  unremarkable  in  person,  would  not  be  out  of  place 
in  a  palace  or  in  a  cottage.  So  moderate  in  all  his  views 
and  actions,  doing  his  duty  to  his  parishioners,  his  neigh- 
bours, and  his  family,  so  much,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
having  no  consciousness  of  being  better  or  wiser  than 
his  fellow-men,  that  no  one  supposes  him  to  be  so — he  is 
taken  at  his  own  estimate.  He  does  not  even  perceive 
that  he  is  underrated  ;  therefore  it  is  of  no  consequence 
that  he  is  so. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

NO    MAN    OR   WOMAN    CAN    LIVE    LONGER   AT    PEACE   THAN 
NEIGHBOURS   WILL   LET   THEM. 

EVERY  one  knows  the  fable  of  the  sun,  the  wind,  and 
the  traveller.  Every  one  knows  the  wager  between 
the  first  and  second  as  to  the  third,  and  which  won  it. 

Mrs.  Brown  could  not  help  herself:  she  was  compelled 
to  drop  her  cloak,  impossible  to  keep  it  on,  under  the 
warmth  of  attentions  from  the  rectory. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  and  her  daughter  were  both  service- 
able women ;  the  former  needed  no  particular  reason  to 
make  her  kindly,  the  latter,  the  moment  she  believed 
she  could  be  of  use  to  any  one,  became  interested  in  the 
person.  Her  prejudice  against  the  Browns  was  fast 
changing,  under  the  influence  of  her  belief  in  Dodge's 
"  oddness,"  into  a  predilection  for  mother  and  son. 
Scarcely  a  day  that  nurse  and  the  children  wore  not 
charged  with  some  commission  for  the  Hatch — a  new 
magazine,  or  a  review,  or  a  plant,  or  some  fruit  from  the 
Lot-house.     The  Hatch  was  besieged. 


OUR  QUIET  DEPENDS  UPON   OUR  NEIGHBOURS.       37 

Mrs.  Browu  had  maintained  her  reserve  with  the 
ladies,  but  it  was  difficult  to  resist  the  innocent  confiding 
familiarity  of  the  children.  She  began  to  watch  for  tho 
sound  of  their  merry  tongues,  all  going  at  once,  and  for 
the  merry  patter  of  their  feet  on  the  gravel  walk  below 
her  windows ;  and,  after  a  little,  she  rarely  held  out 
against  the  tone  of  disappointment  in  Carry's  voice  when 
she  exclaimed,  "  Mrs.  Brown  can't  see  us  ;  oh  !  dear,  I  am 
sorry.     Mademoiselle,  please  to  tell  Ilans  so." 

Mrs.  Brown  was  an  object  of  supreme  admiration  to 
these  little  folks  ;  they  really  enjoyed  staring  at  her,  their 
enjoyment  made  more  piquant  by  a  mysterious  feeling  of 
curiosity,  caught  from  their  elders. 

Hans,  also,  with  his  sugar  biscuits  and  his  feather 
brush,  was  a  mystery  and  delight.  The  rectory  children 
vowed  he  was  never  seen  without  the  brush.  "You  can 
tell  when  he  is  in  good  humour,"  said  Charlie,  "  for  then 
he  carries  it  upright,  like  a  musket ;  when  he  is  out  of 
sorts  he  trails  it  after  him,  just  as  a  fowl  does  his  tail  in 
wet  weather ;  and  I  can  tell  you  that  Hans  scarcely  ever 
speaks  but  when  he  is  obliged.  Mrs.  Brown  talks  to 
him  in  German  like  anything,  and  how  do  you  think  he 
answers  ?  Why,  by  making  such  funny  mouths  ;  he  puts 
out  his  lips  and  pulls  them  in,  and  she  seems  quite  to 
understand  him,  for  she  waits  till  he  has  done  with  his 
faces,  and  then  goes  on  talking  again.  He  always  stays 
just  outside  the  room  door  while  we  are  there,  and  they 
keep  the  chain  of  the  front  door  up,  though  I  have  told 
them  there's  no  fear  of  thieves  here." 

Charlie  despised  Dodge  as  a  milksop,  when  he  disco- 
vered that  the  young  gentleman  did  not  care  for  ferrets, 
and  knew  not  how  to  manage  either  puppies  or  pigeons. 
The  smaller  boys  and  girls  followed  their  born  leader 
Charlie,  all  except  Carry,  who  remained  a  constant  friend 
to  Dodge.  The  children,  having  thus  made  a  breach  in 
Mrs.  Brown's  wall  of  defence,  Mrs.  Greatorex  one  morn- 
ing, in  a  nice  soft  drizzle,  made  her  great  attack.  Two 
visitors,  a  husband  and  wife,  most  unexpectedly  came  to 
the  rectory;  two  most  cruelly  unamusing,  uuamusable 
people.  They  were  above  or  below  every  thing.  They 
could  not  talk  on  politics,  or  religon,  or  literature ;  on 
principle  they  would  not  play  at  whist,  or  ecart^,  back 


38  SKIRMISHING 

gammon,  draughts,  solitaire,  squails,  croquet,  or  aunt 
sally.  The  gentleman  allowed  of  chess ;  but  there  was 
no  chess-board  at  the  rectory,  and,  if  there  had  been,  no 
one  there  knew  a  bishop  from  a  rook.  Mr.  Greatorex 
tired  himself  to  death  taking  the  husband  over  the 
church,  and  explaining  that  nobody  could  explain  what 
a  certain  painted  glass  window  meant,  or  how  it  came 
there,  or  indeed  the  church  itself;  there  it  was,  nobody 
knew  who  had  built  it.  This  did  seem  a  subject  of  inter- 
est to  the  guest,  who,  having  heard  that  the  Eomans  had 
certainly  been  in  that  neighbourhood,  though  some  time 
ago  no  doubt,  expected  to  have  seen  at  least  concrete 
bricks — yes,  he  did  confess  to  an  interest  in  concrete 
bricks.  That  same  evening  Mr.  Greatorex  fell  disgrace- 
fully asleep  in  a  provokingly  comfortable  attitude,  the 
visitors  sitting  bolt  upright,  unable  to  keep  their  eyes 
from  the  sleeping  figure.  It  was  these  perfectly  unex- 
ceptionable friends  of  the  family,  who  drove  Mrs.  Great- 
orex to  attempt  to  coax  Mrs.  Brown  into  accepting  an 
invitation  to  tea,  for  herself  and  George. 

"  It  will  be  a  doM'nright  charity,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex ; 
"  the  only  diversion  that  animates  my  friends  is  a  concert. 
Poor  Maud  is  willing  enough  to  play ;  but  they  don't  con- 
sider her  music  worth  listening  to.  It  would  be  so  very 
kind  of  George  to  come  and  give  them  some  of  his  charm- 

I  can  scarcely  promise  for  Goorgey,"  returned  Mrs. 
Brown. 

"Oh!  I'll  manage  him,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex,  gaily. 
"  I  know  he  won't  refuse  me."  Are  people  often  right  in 
the  estimate  of  their  personal  influence  ? 

"  As  for  me,"  continued  Mrs.  Brown,  "  I  really  have 
no  dress  for  an  evening  party,"  and  the  speaker's  lovely 
clear  complexion  lost  its  transparency  in  a  deep  flush, 
produced  I)y  the  struggle  between  an  earnest  desire  not 
to  accept  the  invitation,  and  an  unwillingness  to  be  diso- 
bliging to  one  who  had  been  now  for  weeks  showing 
kindly  attentions. 

"Come  as  you  arc,  you  can't  be  better,"  cried  the 
rector's  eager  lady,  "there  will  be  no  other  ntrangers 
besides  our  two  guests  and  Mr.  Escott,  and  you  know 
him.     Now,  then,  we  may  consider  the  matter  settled, — 


OUR  QUIET  DEPENDS  UPON  OUR  NEIGHBOURS.   39 

such  a  relief,  most  neighbourly  of  you  indeed.  If  it  con- 
tinues raining,  we'll  send  the  brougham  for  you."  And 
muffling  herself  in  the  wraps,  in  which  she  ran  about  the 
parish  on  charitable  errands,  whatever  the  weather,  Mrs. 
Greatorex  hurried  home  to  do  that,  which  we  have  high 
authority  for  stating,  is  the  hardest  task  one  human 
being  can  inflict  on  another — to  entertain  those  who  can't 
be  entertained. 

Now,  it  so  happens  that,  often  when  we  have  obtained 
our  wish,  so  far  from  resting  satisfied,  we  constantly 
begin  extending  the  limits  of  the  same  wish,  or  tacking 
on  to  the  one  with  which  we  commenced  other  wishes,  till 
the  original  stuff  is  so  overlaid,  we  forget  what  it  cost  us 
to  obtain  our  first  desire,  or  how  happy  we  were  to  have 
it  granted. 

No  sooner,  then,  had  IMrs.  Greatorex  conquered  Mrs. 
Brown's  hesitation,  and  George's  wilfulness,  no  sooner 
was  she  sure  of  amusement  for  the  evening,  than  she 
made  good  the  remark  ventured  on  above.  She  was  in 
her  store-room  when  one  or  two  extra  wishes  were 
hatched ;  at  the  moment,  indeed,  she  was  giving  out  to 
the  cook  different  articles  that  were  most  of  them,  Pro- 
teus-like, to  change  their  shapes  ere  they  re-appeared  at 
a  charming  little  supper,  to  be  served  at  half-past  ten 
that  night.  The  pastry  and  confectionery,  as  well  as  the 
rectory  hospitality,  were  renowned,  and,  as  Mrs.  Great- 
orex observed  to  the  cook,  "  she  really  could  not  invite 
Mrs.  Brown  and  her  son  for  the  first  time  to  a  mere  tea 
and  turn  out." 

The  cook  answered, — "  La,  'ra,  what  a  pity  to  have 
everything  so  nice  for  so  few." 

"  So  it  is,  Jane,"  replied  the  mistress,  and  fell  into  a 
reverie  while  opening  the  coffee  canister  and  other  recep- 
tacles of  grocery.  Then,  presently  staring  absently  at 
the  cook,  and  speaking  half  to  her,  half  in  soliloquy, — 
"There's  time  for  Charlie  to  ride  to  Belmont  and  back 
before  three  o'clock,  and  I  am  sure  the  Lonsdalcs  would 
be  glad  to  come,  and  what  dilferonce  can  it  make  to  Mrs. 
Brown  whether  she  meets  two  strangers  or  four." 

The  cook  said,  "  What,  indeed,  she  should  like  to 
tnow." 

Mrs.  Greatorex,  however,  was  not  the  woman  first  to 


to  SKIRMISHING. 

do  an  imprudence,  and  then  defend  it.  She  was  not  at 
all  one  of  the  common  run  of  her  sex,  so  she  consulted — 
no,  so  she  told  the  rector  what  she  was  inclined  to  do. 

"  Did  you  make  any  promise  to  Mrs.  Brown,  that  there 
should  be  no  one  else  asked,  or  did  she  make  any  condi- 
tions ?"  inquired  the  husband. 

"Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,"  replied  the  wife;  "she 
made  some  excuse  about  her  dress,  that  was  all." 

"It's  a  case  of  conscience,  I  perceive,"  said  the  rector; 
"  you  must  decide  it  for  yourself,  Louisa." 

Exactly  what  Mrs.  Greatorex  had  expected  him  to 
aay ;  now  she  was  on  safe  ground,  she  knew  what  she 
was  about.  She  had  told  Mr.  Greatorex  first,  and,  come 
what  would,  he  could  not  say  she  had  not  spoken  to  him 
on  the  subject.  And,  then,  he  was  not  one  to  exult  over 
the  mistakes  of  his  neighbour ;  had  he  been  one  of  those 
who  aggravate  one's  self-reproach,  Mrs.  Greatorex  would 
have  acted  with  more  circumspection.  The  ancients 
worshipped  and  offered  sacrifices  to  Fear ;  on  what 
shrine  do  ?/;e  oftenest  lay  our  obedience  in  our  domestic 
circles  ? 

Charlie  rode  off  full  gallop  with  a  note  to  Belmont ;  he 
passed  George  Brown  on  the  way  with  only  a  flourish  of 
his  whip.  Charlie  knew,  as  well  as  if  his  mother  had 
confided  it  to  him,  that  she  would  not  wish  the  Browns 
to  hear  of  the  invitation  to  the  Lonsdalcs.  It's  a  curious 
and  dangerous  faculty  that  which  children  and  servants 
have  of  guessing  the  secret  thoughts  and  wishes  of 
parents  and  masters ;  if  we  look  well  about  us  for  an 
instance  in  point,  we  may  remember  that  e])isode  in 
Henry  the  Second's  life,  which  has  to  do  with  Thomas  h 
Beckett. 

Before  Charlie  returned,  ^Irs.  Greatorex  had  decided 
she  would  be  pleased  whatever  the  answer  scnj  l;y  the 
Lonsdalcs ;  whether  they  came  or  not,  it  would  be  much 
the  same  thing,  she  should  have  returned  f/icir  last  tca- 
l)arty,  or  as  Mr.  Lonsdale  termed  it,  tea-fight.  Charlie 
was  later  in  coming  liome  than  his  mother  had  expected; 
he  was  radiant,  he  had  had  a  famous  game  of  croquet 
with  two  "such  jolly  girls,"  and  a  brother,  who  were 
staying  at  IJclinont.  They  were  all  cnniing,  to  be  sure; 
lie  had  told  them  of  George  Brown's  jjlaying.  There 
was  Mrs.  Lonsdale's  note. 


OUR  QUIET  DEPENDS  UPON  OUR  NEIGHBOURS.   41 

Mrs.  Greatorex  was  vexed. 

"  It's  very  provoking,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Only  two  more  ?"  said  the  rector. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Greatorex,  but  two  more,  and  two  more 
make  a  difference  ;  men  never  understand  lliese  things." 

Mrs.  Browu  certainly  had  understood  that  the  only 
strangers  she  should  meet  was  the  pair  of  petrifactions, 
who  needed  an  Orpheus  to  animate  them;  but  whatever 
her  surprise,  or  annoyance,  neither  sensation  appeared 
in  her  countenance.  All  the  ladies,  excepting  Mrs.  Les- 
crimifere,  were  very  fine  ;  excusable  where  there  were  so 
few  opportunities  for  wearing  those  best  gowns  which 
had  to  be  provided  for  the  one  or  two  annual  galas  given 
by  the  Meml)er's  or  the  Baronet's  wife. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale,  a  bulky  woman,  of  age  and  features  no 
way  remarkable,  was  only  smart  in  the  way  of  jewellery ; 
she  shone  with  gold  wherever  gold  could  be  put :  head, 
arms,  neck,  fingers,  and  waist.  She  and  her  husband 
had  spent  the  best  years  of  their  life  in  Australia  to 
some  purpose :  she  was  very  suggestive  of  nuggets.  The 
blonde  young  lady  in  hard  bright  blue,  the  brunette  in 
hard  bright  maize  silk,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  not  like 
twin  cherries  or  twin  rosebuds,  made  the  grave  gentle- 
man's eyes  water.  The  grave  wife  had  unaccountable 
fringes  dangling  from  unaccountable  places,  and  even 
Mrs.  Greatorex,  though  she  carried  off  her  finery  with 
the  air  of  a  small  queen,  could  have  spared  much  of  it, 
and  the  loss  been  a  gain.  Maud,  not  being  responsible 
for  her  adornment,  it  shall  be  passed  over  in  friendly 
silence.  The  little  girls  in  short  white  frocks  and  long 
white  stockings,  pocket-handkerchief  between  finger  and 
thumb,  sat  demurely  on  a  settee,  flanked  by  their  little 
brothers  in  tunics,  and  belts,  and  knickerbockers. 
Charlie  play(Hl  the  man,  stretching  his  neck  to  look  on 
a  par  with  the  Oxonian,  the  brother  of  the  grown-up 
young  ladies  in  blue  and  maize. 

The  gentlemen,  that  is,  Mr.  Lonsdale,  the  unamusable 
guest,  and  Mr.  Greatorex,  stood  on  the  rug,  with  their 
backs  to  tlie  chimney.  They  were  all  grave  as  judges ; 
in  country  parsonages  people  don't  dasli  into  any  or  all 
subjects,  or  make  recklessly  free  with  facts  or  persons. 
No,  whatever  is  said,  is  said  without  that  leaning   to 

4* 


42  SKIRMISHING. 

pleasantry  or  wit,  -which  might  end  in  what  Solomon 
compares  to  the  crackling  of  thorns.  In  great  societies, 
wit  is  everything,  truth  nothing ;  in  small  ones,  the  same 
results  are  arrived  at,  but  differently.  Escott,  who  had 
a  horror  of  even  harmless  country  tittle-tattle,  had  with- 
drawn into  his  favorite  place,  the  hollow  of  the  curve  of 
the  grand  jjiano,  with  a  book  in  his  hand — a  shallow  pre- 
tence, used  as  a  shield  from  conversation ;  he  saw  and 
heard  all  that  went  on  in  every  part  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  in  the  seat  of  honour,  George  behind 
her,  in  a  recess.  The  silence  that  followed  the  Browns' 
arrival  was  like  that  described  in  the  libretto  of  Le  Dh- 
sert — to  be  seen  and  heard.  Every  one  was  scrutinizing 
Mrs.  Brown,  who  in  her  plain  black  silk  dress,  looked 
something  like  a  portrait  by  Vandyke,  surrounded  by 
pictures  from  a  fashion-book. 

The  grave  lady  wore  an  air  of  hostility — the  look 
which  generally  welcomes  a  new  arrival  among  men  or 
beasts.  Mrs.  Ijonsdale's  sharp  small  blue  eyes  became 
suspicious  as  well  as  curious.  Mrs.  Lonsdale  had  for 
twenty  years  needed  to  be  on  her  guard,  and  habits  are 
not  easily  broken.  From  the  grave  gentleman's  face 
cleared  away  something  of  its  fractious  expression.  Mr. 
Lonsdale,  a  tall,  thin,  handsome  man  (who,  by-lhe-by, 
was  addicted  to  the  utterance  of  .^hort,  unconnected 
sentences),  desirous  of  notice,  grew  fidgety. 

Tea  was  got  over  in  the  long  summer  twilight ;  when 
lamps  and  candles  were  brought,  Mrs.  Greatorex  per- 
suaded the  blonde  and  the  hrnne  to  favour  tlic  company 
with  a  duet.  The  young  hulies  managed  to  accomplish 
one  after  the  various  common  accidents  on  such  occa- 
sions, such  as  i'alse  starts,  &:c.,  Szq.  Mrs.  Greatorex  had, 
in  the  meantime,  been  whispering  to  every  one  what  a 
treat  was  in  store  fur  them  in  young  Brown's  ])laying. 
One  must  luivc  lived  in  the  dei)ths  of  the  country  to  ap- 
preciate the  full  value  of  a  novelty  at  a  tea-drinking. 
George,  however,  liung  back,  both  sulky  and  shy — a  new 
phase,  indeed,  of  his  mental  state.  The  excess  of  disap- 
])fiiiit7nent  visible  in  the  face  of  the  rector's  wife,  and  tlic 
despair  in  lier  voice,  moved  Mrs.  Brown  to  remonstrate 
with  George.  He  yielded,  though  with  a  l)ad  grace  ;  all 
his  saucincss  had  vanished;  instead  of  his  rpiick   little 


OUR  QUIET  DEPENDS   UPON   OUR   NEIGHBOURS.       43 

step,  he  shuffled  along  to  the  piano  with  crimson  flushed 
cheeks. 

"What  an  odd-looking  boy,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lonsdale 
to  the  grave  lady  by  whom  she  was  seated ;  "  and  what  a 
theatrical  dress — preposterous  for  a  lad  of  that  age." 

"  The  mother  mu.st  do  it  to  make  people  think  he  is 
younger  than  he  is,"  answered  the  grave  lady. 

"What  age  do  you  suppose  her  to  be?"  asked  Mrs. 
Lonsdale.  "  Mr.  Lonsdale  says  one  can  never  tell  a 
woman's  age  by  candle-light.  I  wonder  what  she  can 
do?" 

"Do?"  repeated  the  grave  lady,  adding,  senten- 
tiously,  "  what  does  any  pretty  woman  need  to  do  but 
let  herself  be  admired  ?" 

George  had  been  preluding  with  a  little  hesitation ;  he 
now  played,  and  astonished  his  hearers  as  much  as  Mrs. 
Greatore.x  could  have  desired. 

"  Depend  on  it,"  remarked  the  grave  lady,  "  those 
people  are  professional.  I  know  what  playing  is :  my 
husband  and  I  attend  every  concert  in  London  during 
the  season,  and  no  one  will  ever  make  me  believe  that's 
amatuer  playing,"  and  the  grave  lady  crossed  her  legs  in 
an  offended  manner. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale,  having  no  appropriate  speech  of  Mr. 
Lonsdale's  to  quote,  was  silent,  uncertain  whether  the 
grave  lady's  speech  meant  censure  or  praise ;  for,  as  far 
as  she  was  concerned,  she  did  not  know  "  Kule  Britan- 
nia," save  by  the  words,  from  "  Partant  pour  la  Syrie." 

"  I  cannot  let  you  get  up  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex 
to  George.  "  Just  once  more — any  thing  you  like — it  is 
such  a  very  great  treat." 

George  had  recovered  his  sang-froid  and  petulance, 
and,  Math  them,  the  command  of  his  fingers ;  he  played 
an  Italian  air  so  exquisitely,  with  such  thrilling  power, 
that  Escott  felt  his  heart  pierced  by  the  notes,  and  tears 
filled  his  eyes.  The  grave  town  lady  gave  the  colonial 
one  a  significant  side  glance,  and  whispered. 

"  Tell  me  that's  a  private  performer,  indeed  !" 

When  George  left  the  piano  and  the  Oxonian  took 
his  place,  favouring  the  company  with  Negro  songs,  the 
whole  party  woke  up  to  life.  That  was  the  great  suc- 
cess  of  the   evening,   aurea  mediocritas.     Every  one 


44  SKIRMISHING. 

understood  what  was   doing.     Accident  often  accom- 
plishes more  for  us  than  foresight. 

It  was  not  Ukely  that  Escott  should  have  forgotten 
the  voice  he  had  stopped  to  listen  to  in  passing  the 
Hatch.  During  the  evening  he  went  with  Mrs.  Great- 
orex  to  beg  Mrs.  Brown  to  sing. 

"  I  played  the  eavesdropper  once,"  he  said ;  "  I  will 
tell  you  even  what  I  heard  you  sing, — '  E  segreto  per 
esser  feli-ce.' " 

Mrs.  Brown  grew  very  red,  and  said,  earnestly,  and 
curtly — 

"  I  never  sing  to  any  one  now ;  I  could  not,  indeed ; 
pray  drop  the  subject." 

It  was  so  evidently  a  disagreeable  one,  that  to  press 
the  request  further  would  have  been  uncourteous. 

After  the  Lonsdales  and  their  guests  were  gone,  Es- 
cott managed  to  get  near  George,  who,  imtil  the  Oxo- 
nian's departure,  was  not  to  be  lured  out  of  the  corner 
behind  his  mother. 

"  It  is  long,"  said  the  curate,  "  since  I  have  had  such 
a  treat  as  your  playing." 

"  AVell,  pcrhai)s  it  is  a  shade  better  than  Larry  Earle's 
squeaking  on  the  fiddle,"  answered  George,  with  mock 
gravity.  He  continued, — "I  have  such  fun  at  Johr. 
Earle's  on  Sunday  evenings.  I  set  them  to  sing  psalms^ 
iind  it  is  so  droll.  I  wish  you  would  come  and  hear 
them,  wouldn't  it  make  you  die  of  laughing." 

Dodge  was  dressed  in  a  loose  black  velvet  tunic,  with 
a  belt  round  his  waist,  and  as  the  young  scapegrace 
looked  up  roguishly  in  Escott's  face,  something  in  the 
attitude  of  the  two  figures  reminded  Mrs.  Lescrimifere 
of  one  of  (Javarni's  sketches  of  the  Carnival, — that  one 
in  which  the  girl,  disguised  as  a  boy,  says  to  her  com- 
panion, Je  t'nnti'pafhe.  Mrs.  Lescrimiferc  very  nearly 
lauglicd  aloud. 

The  grave  pair  retired  to  their  room  as  soon  as  Mrs. 
Brown  and  George  were  gone,  and  the  family  were  at 
liberty  to  talk  over  the  evening. 

As  regarded  Mrs.  Brown's  beauty,  there  was  entire 
unanimity— entire  unanimity  also  as  to  her  looking  too 
young  to  lie  tlio  mother  of  Dodge. 

Escott,  who  liad  been  pacing  up  and  down  the  room 


OUR  QUIET  DEPENDS  UPON  OUR  NEIGHBOURS.   45 

a  custom  of  his  when  in  an  intimate  domestic  circle,  said 
with  an  animation  that  astonished  Maud, — 

"  The  lady's  quiet  gi'ace  is  charming,  and  in  my  opin- 
ion more  uncommon  still  than  her  beauty.  It  is  the 
stranger,"  he  added,  "  that  she  has  not  taught  her  son 
better  mamiers." 

"  I  am  more  convinced  than  ever,"  said  Mrs.  Great- 
orex,  "  that  the  boy  is  not  quite  right  in  his  mind,  and 
she,  poor  thing,  does  her  best,  by  not  thwarting  him,  to 
prevent  people  from  taking  notice  of  his  odd  ways." 

"You  may  be  right,"  said  Escott,  "though  for  my 
part,  I  think  the  young  fellow  more  knave  than  fool." 

"  You  are  tenacious  of  first  impressions,  I  must  say," 
observed  Mrs.  Lescrimifere.  "  To  others.  Dodge,  as  the 
children  call  him,  seems  merely  somewhat  silly,  idle,  and 
headstrong,  not  very  different  from  many  other  boys 
left  to  a  mother's  sole  management.  The  mother  inter- 
ests me  far  more  than  her  son ;  she  gives  me  the  idea  of 
a  person  imder  a  spell ;  makes  me  think  of  the  lady  in 
Comus,  or  a  nymph  turning  gradually  into  stone — of 
something  neither  living  nor  dead;  something  pagan, 
something  supernatural." 

"  Grandmamma,  you  make  my  flesh  creep  !"  said  Mr. 
Greatorcx.  "  It's  very  naughty  of  you  to  frighten  us, 
after  having  led  us,  perhaps,  mto  the  scrape  of  consort- 
ing with  a  Pixsie,  or  a  Nixie,  or " 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  quite  gravely, 
pre-occupied  with  her  own  thoughts.  "  I'll  tell  you  what 
she  looks  to  me, — what  nobody  else  ever  gave  me  the 
slightest  conception  of, — the  impersonation  of  that  ter- 
rible fable  of  a  person,  with  a  sword  suspended  over  his 
head  by  a  thread." 

"  Dear  grandmamma,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex,  "  which 
of  us  is  not  living  under  the  suspended  sword  of  an  un 
known  destiny?  It's  not  right,  nevertheless,  to  spoil 
the  present  by  vain  conjectures  as  to  the  past  or  the 
future.  'Let  little  joys  refresh  us,'  says  a  wise  man; 
and  see  how  gloomy  we  all  are,  instead  of  rejoicing  over 
a  pleasant  evening,  during  which,  thanks  to  the  Browns, 
no  one  has  gone  to  sleep.  Now,  Escott,  away  with 
you,  or  you'll  get  into  certain  trouble  with  your  land- 
lady." 


46  SKIRMISHING. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    LOST    SHEEP. 

TWO  fields  behind  the  schoolhouse  of  Eden,  is  a  tolera- 
bly high  mound,  surrounded  by  water.  This  rising 
ground  goes  by  the  sounding  title  of  the  Castle  Hill,  and 
is  in  all  seriousness  believed  to  have  been  a  Roman  forti- 
fication belonging  to  the  period  when,  according  to 
tradition,  Julius  Caesar  planted  nettles  in  the  neighbour- 
hood to  keep  his  soldiers  warm.  Tradition  is  silent  as  to 
how  this  was  accomplished ;  one  thing  is  positive — the 
nettles  all  around  Eden  have  the  same  air  of  grandeur  as 
other  Roman  remains,  and  are  equally  enduring  also. 
The  table-land  of  Castle  Hill  is  covered  thickly  with  tall 
fir-trees ;  the  banks,  sloping  rapidly  down  to  the  water, 
are  overgrown  with  a  tangle  of  brush-wood,  with  here 
and  there  a  willow-tree  seeking  the  water ;  a  famous  place 
in  spring  for  primroses  and  wild  anemones,  and  a  sight  to 
take  the  trouble  to  go  to,  when  the  hyacinths  are  in 
bloom.    All  below  the  fir-trees  'tis — 

"Blue  as  if  the  sky  let  fall 
Flowers  from  its  cerulenn  ■wall." 

As  for  the  water,  the  willows  searched  for  it  with  the 
perseverance  of  love,  for  it  lay  hidden  (at  least  close  to 
the  foot  of  the  mound)  by  tall  sedges,  with  leaves  like 
lances,  and  white  flowers  stained  with  purple;  while  on 
the  side  ne.xt  the  field  it  was  covered  with  dark,  glossy, 
small-leafed  cress.  ,  The  rectory  children  were  forbidden 
to  play  by  themselves  anywhere  near  this  species  of 
moat ;  it  was  a  dangerous  place  even  in  summer,  when 
the  water  was  comi)arativcly  shallow ;  for  along  its  bed 
trailed  long-armed  weeds,  and  it  was,  besides,  full  of 
holes.  In  winter,  swelled  by  the  rains  and  the  influx  of 
many  small  tributaries,  it  became  a  deep,  sullen,  swifts 
flowing  river,  and  at  one  point,  where  its  bank  had  been 
purposely  narrowed,  it  rushed  impetuously  into  the  mill- 
Btrcam. 

After  having  been  to  the  school  to  give  a  lesson  in 


THE  LOST   SHEEP.  4t 

geography,  Escott  passing  through  the  Castle  Hill  field, 
came  suddenly  upon  young  Brown  lying  on  the  grass  by 
the  side  of  the  water.  He  was  in  a  half-reclining  atti- 
"tude,  leaning  on  his  elbow.  He  might  have  easily  heard 
Escott's  steps,  but  he  never  turned  his  head.  The  curate 
stopped,  and  something  in  the  smallness  and  childishness 
of  the  figure  he  was  looking  at  made  him  exclaim, 
"  Ridiculous !"  half  aloud,  as  he  thought  of  his  own  ill- 
will  and  resentment  to  such  a  mere  boy. 

It  was  one  of  those  hot  summer  days,  which  subdues 
all  nature  except  man.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  are  lan- 
'guidly  silent,  the  birds  do  not  sing,  the  cows  hide  their 
sides  in  the  longest  grass  they  can  find,  and  the  sheep  lie 
under  every  ragged  thornbush. 

Escott,  passing  close  to  where  Dodge  lay,  stooped  to 
see  if  he  were  asleep. 

"  Wide  awake,  Mr.  Escott,"  said  Dodge,  without  mov- 
ing.    "  I  am  listening  to  the  water." 

"You  must  be  Fine  Ear  himself,  if  you  catch  any 
sound  of  its  sluggish  course,"  observed  Escott,  suspicious 
that  the  lad  was  trying  to  mislead  him. 

"  You  would  not  say  so,  if  you  were  to  sit  quietly  by 
me  for  a  while,"  returned  Dodge. 

Escott  sat  down,  out  of  curiosity. 

"  Listen,"  went  on  Dodge,  "  and  you  will  hear  all  sorts 
of  pretty  little  noises.  I  can  hear  the  click  of  the  winged 
insects  darting  in  and  out  among  the  leaves." 

The  curate  and  the  boy  sat  silent  for  a  little,  Escott 
puzzled  by  this  sympathy  with  nature,  in  one  whose  habits 
had  appeared  to  him  so  wanting  in  refinement.  For  the 
first  time  he  took  a  good  look  of  Dodge.  Another  puz- 
zle :  this  creature  whom  some  thought  crazy,  and  he  him- 
self had  stigmatized  as  knavish,  struck  him  at  that 
moment  as  having  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  pecu- 
liar countenances  he  had  ever  seen.  'J'he  eyes  were  like 
those  of  his  mother,  only  bright  to  an  incredible  degree ; 
indeed  his  whole  face,  transfigured  by  the  ecstasy  of  his 
enjoyment,  looked  to  Escott  as  though  it  were  some 
transparent  vase  illuminated  from  within. 

"You  don't  hear  musical  sounds?  I  do,"  murmured 
Dodge,  "  like  tiny  harps.  How  sweet  it  all  is !  Don't 
you  feel  as  if  »your  heart  were  growing  bigger  and  bigger, 


4S  SKIRMISHING. 

too  big  to  stay  in  your  body  ?    I  do ;  oh  !  if  I  had  wings 
to  go  up  into  that  beautiful  blue  !" 

While  Escott  was  listening,  gazing  and  wondering, 
Dodge  threw  aside  his  cap,  and,  as  ho  did  so,  a  ray  of 
sunshine,  flickering  through  the  opposite  trees,  fell  trem- 
ulously on  his  fair  curls,  turning  them  to  the  hue  of  gold. 
Was  this  really  George  Brown,  that  mischievous,  tire- 
some sprite,  or  was  Escott  dreaming  ? 

Before  the  curate  got  further  in  his  conjectures,  Dodge 
softly  touched  his  arm,  whispering, 

"  Look  there,  at  that  beauty ;"  and  pointed  to  one  of 
those  gossamer  insects  with  diaphanous  blue  and  gold 
wings  which  was  darting  round  and  round  George's  head, 
as  if  sensible  of  his  admiration. 

"  How  is  it  tliat  you  love  nature  so  much,  and  the  God 
who  made  it  so  little  ?"  asked  Escott. 

The  light  faded  from  out  of  Dodge's  face  ;  it  took  its 
usual  hue  of  i)allor. 

"J  low  do  you  know  what  I  feel  ?  1  have  never  told 
you,"  said  Dodge,  with  a  proud,  almost  disdainful  gesture 
of  the  head;  then  suddenly  smiling,  he  added,  "I  am  no 
worse,  am  I.  than  the  birds  and  the  flowers  and  the  butter- 
flics?  you  don't  lliink  it  wrong  in  them  to  enjoy  the  little 
time  Ihey  have  to  live,  do  you  '?" 

There  wore  curiously  caressing  tones  in  the  boy's  voice 
which  troubled  Escott;  he  did  not  like  to  feel  tiiat  he  was 
inclined  to  lie  indulgent  to  the  speaker;  anytliing  aj)- 
proaching  to  indulgence  on  this  sul)ject  was  temporizing 
with  actual  wrong,  so  he  said  gravely, 

"  God,  in  endowing  human  beings  with  the  faculties  to 
perceive  and  reflect  on  the  wonders  of  His  creation,  ha.s 
in  a  manner  given  tliem  a  ladder  to  mount  towards  Him 
self,  and " 

"Oh!  don't,  there's  a  good  man,  begin  to  sermonize 
and  spoil  my  pleasure,"  interrupted  George.  "  I  was 
really  very  ha]ipy." 

Escott  wdiilij  have  despised  himself  had  he  not  i)er- 
sisted. 

"  But  I  wish  to  increase  your  happiness." 

D(((lg(>  here  gave  a  low  whistle.     Escott  got  up. 

"Now  I  have  oll'ended  you,"  said  Dodge.  "I  did  not 
mean  to  d.o  so.    You  vox  me  first,  and  then  1  vex  you 


THE   LOST   SHEEP.  49 

it  is  very  odd    how  uucorafortable    people   always  are 
together." 

"  1  am  not  vexed,"  said  Escottin  a  tone  that  belied  the 
assertion.  "  I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer,  I  have  a  long 
walk  before  me." 

"Where  are  you  g^pg?"  asked  Dodge,  in  atone  of 
curiosity. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  Dunleuce  Wood,  to  seek  for  a 
rather  rare  flower." 

"  A  flower  ?  what  is  it  like  ?  Perhaps  I  know  it,"  said 
Dodge,  "  and  can  toll  you  where  to  find  it." 

"Not  probable,  as  I  have  for  two  summers  sought  in 
vain  for  a  perfect  specimen.  It  is  a  flower  with  three 
petals  spreading  out  something  like  a  wild  rose  ;  it  grows 
la  shady  places  where  there's  moss." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it.     May  I  go  with  you  ?" 
"Better  not,  it's  not  safe  to  do  so  without  thick  gaiters  ; 
for  the  brown-striped  adder  often  lies  under  its  leaves,  and 
is  so  like  the  ground  it  is  not  easily  seen." 

"  No,  then  1  shan't  try  :  I  am  horribly  afraid  of  snakes ;" 
and  Dodge  perceptibly  shuddered.  "  I  suppose  you  want 
the  flower  for  Miss  Maud  ?  does  she  know  you  have  to  go 
among  snakes  to  get  it  ?" 

"  It  is  for  myself,"  said  Escott,  stiffly. 
"  And  what's  the  name  ?"  asked  Dodge. 
"  Pyrola  Rotundifolium." 

"What  may  that  be  in  English?  I  don't  understand 
Latin." 

Irritated  by  the  off-hand  way  Dodge  had  questioned 
him,  quite  as  if  he  had  a  right  so  to  do,  Escott's  indulgent 
feelings  of  ten  minutes  ago  vanished,  and  he  answered 
sharply, 

"  It  would  be  better  if,  instead  of  idling  about,  you  did 
study  the  Latin  grammar :  ask  Charlie  Greatorex  to  teach 
you  ;  ignorance  is  neither  creditable  nor  agreeable  at  your 
age,"  and  then  the  curate  turned  on  his  heel,  without  wait- 
ing to  see  the  eflect  of  his  reproof,  lie  could  not  so  easily 
rid  himself  of  the  recollection  as  of  the  presence  of  Mas- 
ter Dodge.  "  Strange  fitful  boy,  so  repulsive  at  one  mo- 
ment, at  iuiolhcr  almost — "  Escott's  thoughts  halted  before 
it  added.  ••  attractive ;"  he  could  find  no  other  word.  "And 
the  mother,  another  enigma.     Beautiful  as  she  was,  it  was 


50  SKIRMISHING. 

difficult  to  say  whether  the  sensation  she  gave  was  not 
rather  one  of  curiosity  than  of  pleasure ;  probably  the 
mountain  will  bring  forth  a  mouse,  and  we  shall  find  out 
the  cause  of  her  retirement  and  reserve  to  be  a  very  pro- 
saic one.  In  this  age  there  are  no  sorcerers  or  witches 
to  fear  the  faggot :  on  the  contrary,  mediums  and  spirits 
are  in  vogue  :  by-the-bye,  that  boy  might  be " 

Here  Eiscott,  nearly  at  the  top  of  the  field,  was  dis- 
turbed by  a  shout  of  his  name,  followed  by  a  child's 
scream.  He  turned  and  saw  Dodge  stooping  over  the 
water,  and  a  little  boy  by  his  side,  wringing  his  hands. 
Escott  ran  back  to  see  what  had  happened. 

"  Make  haste,"  cried  Dodge,  as  soon  as  the  curate  waj 
within  hearing,  and  stamping  with  impatience :  "  here's  t 
poor  lamb  tumbled  into  the  moat — widow  Smith's  lamb 
Do  come  fast." 

Dodge  and  the  small  shepherd  had  tried  to  hook  ouC 
the  poor  animal,  a  half-grown  sheep,  with  sticks,  but  i* 
had  got  fairly  caught  by  some  of  the  long-armed  weeds 
of  the  muddy  bed. 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  go  after  it,"  said 
Escott.  He  took  off  his  coat  and  stepped  into  the  water  ; 
it  was  deeper  than  he  had  expected,  far  above  his  knees ; 
however,  he  reached  the  so-called  lamb,  and  extricated  it 
'rom  the  net  of  withes  in  which  it  had  been  caught.  "  I 
dhall  get  out  easier  with  the  beast,  if  I  go  lower  down," 
said  Escott,  "  where  it  is  narrower." 

"  No,  no,  don't,"  exclaimed  Dodge  ;  "  this  child  says  it's 
very  deep  there.  Come  back,  do,  Mr.  Escott ;  indeed  you 
had  better." 

"  Nonsense,"  returned  Escott  to  these  entreaties,  and. 
with  the  lamb  in  his  arms,  began  to  wade. 

"  I  declare  you  look  like  the  pictures  of  St.  John," 
cried  Dodge. 

"  Never  mind  what  I  am  like,  but  reach  or  throw  me 
that  child's  long  stick." 

The  weeds  and  Escott's  weight  were  too  much  for  the 
stick  :  it  l)roki',  and  the  curate  only  saved  himself  from 
nn  awkward  fall,  by  such  a  violent  jerk  of  liis  person 
backwards,  and  a  snatch  at  the  sedges,  that  Dodge  could 
not  restrain  a  laugh.  The  poor  lamb  was  once  more  iu 
the  water. 


THE   LOST   SHEEP.  51 

"  Ob  !  pick  it  up,  pick  it  up,  please,  sir,"  implored  the 
little  shepherd,  beginning  to  blubber  at  the  ominous  frown 
on  Escott's  brow,  caused  by  young  Brown's  untimely 
laugh.  No  man  particularly  enjoys  being  in  an  awkward 
position  before  witnesses,  and  Escott  was  among  the  most 
sensitive  to  ridicule.  IJe  made  no  answer  to  the  entreaty, 
but  waded  again  after  the  lamb,  and  this  time,  instead  of 
approaching  the  bank  on  which  the  two  boys  were  stand- 
ing, he  made  for  the  narrow  outlet.  They  ran  to  meet 
him,  Dodge  carrying  Escott's  coat.  As  soon  as  the  curate 
was  near  enough  to  the  edge,  he  put  down  the  lamb  on 
the  grass,  scrambled  out  without  appearing  to  notice  the 
hand  Dodge  held  out  to  him,  taking  his  coat  with  a  dry 
"  thank  you." 

The  first  thing  the  little  shepherd  did  on  seeing  his 
lamb  safe,  was  to  give  it  a  good  blow. 

"  You  do  that  again,"  said  Dodge,  "  and  I'll  throw  your 
sheep  back  into  the  water ;  take  care,  for  I'll  watch,"  and 
then  Dodge  ran  after  Escott,  who  had  walked  on  without 
any  ceremony  of  leave-taking. 

"  Are  you  not  going  for  the  flower?"  asked  Dodge. 

"  Not  very  possible,  in  this  pickle,"  replied  Escott,  who 
was  all  slime  and  mud  up  to  his  knees. 

"  And  there  are  always  adders  near  that  flower  ?"  per- 
sisted Dodge. 

"  I  can't  say,  always  ;  but  frequently." 

"And  do  people  die  of  the  bite,  Mr.  Escott?" 

"  Seldom  ;  it  depends  on  the  state  of  the  blood,  but  the 
bitten  limb  swells." 

"  I  once  read  a  German  story,"  said  Dodge,  "  about  a 
young  man  who  could  not  be  happy  without  going  in  search 
of  some  blue  flower  he  had  seen  in  his  dreams.  He  met 
with  all  sorts  of  adventures  I  know,  just  as  you  did  to-day, 
in  saving  the  lamb." 

"What  with  his  questions  and  his  rambling  talk  George 
Brown  was  as  vexing  to  Escott  as  a  fly  buzzing  about  his 
ears ;  he  had  twenty  minds  to  do  to  him  what  he  would 
have  done  to  the  fly, — flap  him  away,  if  not  with  his 
handkerchief,  with  some  more  candid  than  polite  rejoinder. 
But  while  striving  against  this  inclination,  the  tormentor 
exclaimed, 

"We  must  run,  there's  a  heavy  shower  coming." 


52  SKIRMISHING. 

True  enough :  the  sky  was  cloudlessly  bright  before 
them,  but  behind,  great  purple  black  clouds  were  rolling 
up  quickly.    Dodge  went  on, 

"  Don't  they  look  like  those  terrible  genii  who  come  out 
of  a  box,  and  spread  and  spread  till  you  cannot  see  the 
end  of  them  ?" 

Escott  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  answer,  and 
Dodge,  looking  in  his  face,  could  not  mistake  the  meaning 
of  its  expression ;  therefore,  though  he  continued  to  walk 
in  a  line  with  Escott,  he  did  not  again  speak,  not  until,  as 
they  Avere  crossing  the  Lea,  a  distant  growl  of  thunder 
was  quickly  followed  by  a  tolerably  loud  clap ;  then 
Dodge  said, 

"  Had  we  not  better  go  under  the  trees  ?"  He  had 
come  close  to  the  curate's  side ;  there  was  such  a  real  fear 
in  the  voice  that  Escott  glanced  at  the  boy — he  was  white 
as  paper. 

"  Don't  you  know  it  is  very  dangerous  to  take  shelter 
beneath  trees  in  a  thunder-storm  ?  they  arc  conductors 
of  lightning.     We  must  keep  in  the  open  ground." 

Another  smart  clap,  then  a  loud  crash,  which  made 
Dodge  cling  to  Escott's  arm.  The  curate  said,  as  if  to 
himself,  ''God  thundereth  marvellously  with  his  voice; 
great  things  doeth  He  which  we  cannot  comprehend." 

WhtMi  the  storm  had  rolled  away,  Escott  said, 

"  Did  you  over  hear  tliose  words  before  ?" 

"  No,  but  you  know  already  that  I  am  very  ignorant, 
Mr.  Escott."  The  boy's  head  was  turned  so  that  Escott 
could  not  sec  he  was  looking  sad. 

"  They  are  from  a  book  1  suspect  you  have  studied  very 
little,"  said  Escott,  severely  enough;  "a  book  written 
equally  for  the  ignorant  as  the  wise.  T  mean  tlic  Bible  ;" 
and,  as  lie  liiiislied  speaking,  he  iiiade  a  motion  which 
ri-inindod  Dodge  to  drop  tlie  arm'he  had  sei/.od  in  his 
fri;;ht  and  was  still  holding.  "  You  should  try  to 
strengthen  your  nerves,"  added  the  curate. 

When  they  reached  the  turning  that  led  to  the  Hatch, 
Dod^-c  i)o]it('!y  asked  lOscott  to  come  home  with  liim  and 
have  his  clothes  dried. 

Escott  j)0Hitivcly  declined,  saying  he  iirelerrcd  goiug 
on  to  liis  own  lodgings. 

Just  as  they  were  parting,  one  of  the  school  children 


THE  PYROLA.  53 

came  running  to  Escott  to  tell  him  that  Betsy  Curtis  was 
dying,  and  crying  to  see  him.  Escott  turned  at  once  to 
retrace  some  of  the  road  he  had  just  traversed.  George 
Brown  stood  watching  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   PYROLA. 


SITTING  for  hours,  as  he  had  done,  in  his  wet  clothes, 
while  soothing  Betsy  Curtis's  last  hours  in  this  world, 
had  given  Escott  a  severe  feverish  cold.  Hitherto, 
Escott,  a  really  excellent  man,  has  not  in  these  pages 
appeared  in  a  pleasant  light.  For  the  real  character  of 
the  curate,  we  must  apply  to  the  poor,  the  sick,  the 
sorrow-stricken.  They  will  tell  you  he  never  spares  him- 
self, nor  his  purse,  and  by  sick  beds  he  is  as  gentle  as  a 
woman,  ay,  indeed,  and  will  sit  up  night  after  night  with 
any  one,  enemy  or  friend,  if  he  thinks  he  can  be  of  benefit 
or  comfort. 

"  Do  you  see  that  man  ?"  said  the  largest  butcher  of 

Z ,  pointing  out  Escott  to  a  new  customer.     "He 

ain't  over  above  well  dressed,  is  he — his  coat  ain't  new, 
nor  his  hat  ?  Well — you'd  take  him  for  a  poor  gentle- 
man— that  man  gives  away,  to  my  knowledge,  five  pounds 
a  week  to  the  poor.  No  fear  of  his  example  being 
followed ;  but  he'll  get  through  the  eye  of  the  needle  if 
any  do." 

John  Earl  stood  up  for  church  and  state,  and  nothing 
to  do  "  with  the  Romans  and  their  hosts,"  and  conse- 
quently disapproved  of  the  evening  services  on  Saints* 
days,  which  Escott  always  performed.  Nevertheless. 
John  never  used  his  influence  to  prevent  the  people 
attending  those  services  after  working  hours.  "  It  keeps 
the  pence  in  their  pockets,"  affirmed  John  Earl,  "  and 
that's  one  of  the  best  miracles  a  Saint  can  work."  The 
secret  of  Escott's  influence  in  the  parish  was,  that  men 
saw  that  he  was  in  earnest;  they  might  think  him  severe, 
but  they  felt  he  was  genuine.  This  is  what  makes  a  man 
a  leader  among  his  fellows. 


54  SKIRMISHING. 

"  Sweetness  in  temporal  matters  is  deceitful ;  it  is  a 
labour  and  a  perpetual  fear ;  it  is  a  dangerous  pleasure, 
■whose  beginning  is  without  providence,  and  whose  end 
is  not  without  repentance."  Laying  these  words  of  St. 
Augustine  to  heart,  (Escott  studied  the  works  of  the 
early  Fathers  of  the  church,)  the  curate  imposed  fasts  on 
his  heart  as  well  as  on  his  body,  and  his  keen  sensibili- 
ties, curbed  and  cramped,  revenged  themselves  by  turn- 
ing a  little  acid ;  and  now  we  have  the  origin  of  that 
grain  of  harshness  which  marred  the  perfection  of  his 
character. 

Among  the  many  essential  difiFerences  between  town 
and  country,  is  the  anxiety  country  feels  in  the  health  of 
its  neighbours.  In  a  rural  parish,  an  invalid,  whether 
gentle  or  simple,  forms  a  nucleus  of  interest.  He  or  she 
is  the  topic,  the  only  topic ;  every  one  goes  to  inquire 
who  can,  and  those  who  cannot  insist  on  having  a  bulletin 
somehow. 

When,  for  instance,  Mr.  Breffet,  the  clerk,  was  laid  up 
with  a  sprained  foot,  all  the  family  at  the  rectory  visited 
him  daily,  sent  him  newspapei-s,  and  coddled  him  as  if  he 
had  been  a  pet  child  instead  of  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  who 
took  a  gloomy  view  of  the  affairs  of  this  world  and  the 
ucKt.  Imagine,  then,  the  commotion  in  Eden  when  it 
was  known  that  Mr.  Escott  could  not  ofliciate  on  Sunday. 
Mr.  Breflet  had  it  from  Mr.  Escott's  own  lips,  and 
experienced  as  Mr.  Breffet  was  as  to  Mr.  Escott,  "  a 
man,"  he  would  say,  "  as  never  giv'  in  as  long  as  he'd  a 
leg  to  Stan'  on,"  it  was  Mr.  Brellet's  opinion  Mr.  Escott 
must  be  in  a  bad  way.  "  That  voice  now  of  his — where 
did  one  ever  hear  the  like  of  it? — was  enough  for  any  man 
of  observation  to  tell  one  all  could  not  be  right  with  Mr. 
Escott." 

Mrs.  Breffet's  prominent  eyes  and  those  of  her  five 
(laughters,  Amelia,  llosina,  Philippa,  Eleanora,  and 
Sil)i'lla,  (BrefTct  was  popularly  bcliovccl  to  be  a  greater 
rcnidcr  than  rector  or  curate,)  avoII,  all  those  six  ])air  of 
prominent  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  this  opinion  of  their 
I'ltpe.  'J'he  elder  girls,  a  usual  case,  worsliipix-d  the 
handsome  grave  curate;  the  most  disinterostotl  of  wor- 
ships, considering  that  they  were  delighted  to  liavo  hira 
connected  with  Eden  through  his  marriage  with  Mis3 


THE   PYK.OLA.  55 

Aiaud.  They  should  not  altogether  lose  him.  The  parish 
churchwarden,  the  very  head  and  front  of  the  opposition 
in  the  vestry  meetings,  alarmed  by  Mr.  Breflet's  report, 
went  in  person  to  inquire  for  the  curate.  The  rector's 
churchwarden  and  prime  minister,  not  satisfied  with 
inquiring,  asked  to  see  Mr.  Escott.  When  told  he  might 
go  in,  Stephen  Amos  slipped  off  his  thick  shoes,  and  put- 
ting on  a  pair  of  yellow  leather  slippers,  went  on  tip-toe 
into  Escott's  sitting-room. 

"  Well,  sure,  sir,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  not  so 
bad,"  said  Amos,  in  the  subdued  voice  he  thought  befitted 
the  occasion.     "  I  hcerd  now  you  wer'  very  bad." 

"  I  dare  say  BrefTet  has  been  looking  out  for  a  sung 
lying  for  me  in  the  churchyard,"  said  Escott;  "but  sit 
down,  Stephen,  and  tell  me  all  the  news." 

Stephen  laughed,  such  a  laugh,  a  whisper  of  a  laugh, 
like  the  noise  children  make  when,  with  fast-clasped 
hands,  they  hit  their  knee,  and  cry,  "  Don't  you  hear  the 
honey  chink  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  began  Amos,  sitting  down  uncom- 
fortably on  the  corner  of  a  chair,  a  tacit  acknowledgment 
of  his  superior's  condescension ;  "  I  hope  not  so  bad  as 
that  yet,  sir,  but  now,  Mr.  Escott,  d'ye  see,  I  have  a  book, 
I  bought  a  lot,  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  why,  at  old  Sir 
Henry's  sale,  and  when  I  brought  'em  home  I  didn't  know 
whatever  to  do  with  'em,  not  I,"  here  another  of  Stephen's 
laughs.  "But,  says  I,  as  I  hev'  been  and  bought 'em,  I 
may  as  well  see  what's  in  'em,  and  that's  how  I  came  on 
one  written  by  Agrippi;  perhaps,  sir,  now,  you  may  know 
what  King  Agrippa  that  waS  ?"  And  Stephen,  a  hand 
on  each  knee,  looked  like  one  well  pleased  to  have  given 
another  a  hard  nut  to  crack. 

"  I  am  only  familiar  with  one  King  Agrippa,"  said 
Escott,  keeping  his  countenance,  "  and  that's  the  Agrippa 
before  whom  St.  Paul  defended  himself." 

"  See  that,  now,  if  I  didn't  hit  on  the  same,"  exclaimed 
the  delighted  carpenter ;  "  says  I  to  my  wife,  '  Haryct, 
it  must  be  King  Agrippa,  hun  as  was  almost  a  Chris- 
tian.' " 

"  I  don't  say  that  the  King  Agrippa  of  the  Acts,  and 
your  author  are  one  and  the  same,"  said  Escott,  "  how- 
ever, let  me  hear  what  your  book  is  about." 


56  SKIRMISHING. 

"  Now,  sir,  that's  what  I  am  coming  to  it's  full  ol 
conjuring  and  what  not,  and  I  lights  on  a  /ecipe  for  a 
cold,  and  says  I,  '  Perhaps  it  maybe  worth  trying,  seeing 
it  be  such  an  old  one ;'  this  is  it,  sir,"  and  Stephen  read 
from  a  page  of  his  memorandum  book,  "  Take  yoimg  ash 
leaves,  and  dry  'em  and  pound  'era  to  dust,  mix  'em  with 
honey  and  adder's  fat,  and  it's  a  infallible  cure  for  lung 
complaints." 

"  Thank  you,  Stephen,  but  the  prescription  does  not 
persuade  me." 

"  I  can't  say  I  think  much  of  it  myself,  sir ;  but  I 
thought  as  how  I'd  mention  it." 

"I  should  like  to  see  that  book,  Stephen,  will  you 
bring  it  to  me  ?" 

"  So  I  will,  sir;  so  I  will,"  returned  Amos,  recovering 
from  a  temporary  mortification.  "  But  now.  Mr.  Escott, 
if  you've  no  objection,  I'll  just  do  young  Mr.  Brown's 
commission,"  and  opening  the  door  just  sufficiently  to 
put  his  mouth  and  chin  through,  the  carpenter  called  to 
Mrs.  Slater  to  be  so  good  as  to  hand  him  that  'ere  trug.* 
Shutting  the  door  as  carefully  as  he  had  opened  it,  Ste- 
phen i)resented  to  Escott's  astonished  eyes  a  beautiful 
specimen  of  the  Pyrola,  one  flower  open;  the  whole 
plant  had  1)(>en  taken  up  carefully  by  the  root. 

"Hiiw(li<l  young  Brown  manage  to  get  this?"  asked 
Escott,  examining  it  with  the  delight  of  a  botanist. 

"Get  it?"  cried  Stephen.  "I  fancy  it  was  a  busi- 
ness." 

"  Tn  what  way?" 

"  Why  them  young  boys  ain't  no  sense ;  he  sends  for 
me  to  bring  it  to  you,  and  when  I  see  him,  I  couldn't 
help  saying,  '  I^aws  bless  us,  Mr.  George,  whatever  be 
the  matter?'  Sir,  he  was  as  white  as  my  hand."  Escott 
made  no  objection  to  the  simile.  " '  1  got  a  bite.'  says 
lie,  '  from  an  adder,  but  its  done  me  no  harm,'  says  he. 
'  Hans  ciu-ed  me.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was,  Amos,'  says 
he.  '  I  wiiiited  to  get  tlic  flower  for  Mr.  l-lscott,  because 
I  stopped  him  going  to  the  wood  for  it  t'  otluM-  day  ;  but  it 
was  80  dark  and  whist-like,  excejit  every  now  an<i  Hhmi  a 
rustle,  I  daredn't  go  in  by  myself,  so  1  asked  Jemima 


*  "Trug,"  a  woodou  Imnkot. 


CHIAROSCURO.  57 

White  to  go  with  mo.'  '  Lord,  sir,'  says  I, '  why  didn't  you 
get  Larry  Karl  or  some  of  the  boys  ;  what's  the  use  of  a 
girl?'  Says  he,  laughing,  'I  like  girls  best.'  I  shakes 
my  head  at  him,  and  says  he,  '  Now,  Amos,  you  leave 
preaching  to  Mr.  Escott,  he  does  it  best.'  Bless  me. 
he's  a  wild  little  chap,  that.  Well,  he  goes  on,  sir,  and 
says  he,  '  Such  a  place  as  that  wood,  no  seeing  where 
you  put  your  foot  for  breaks  and  briars.  We  beat  about 
us  with  sticks,  Jemima  and  I,  for  fear  of  vipers,  but  at 
last,'  says  he,  '  I  spied  the  ilower,  and  I  was  in  such  a 
hurry  I  forgot  to  look  about  me,  and  I  was  digging  away 
when  I  felt  something  like  a  pin  run  into  my  ankle.  I 
looked  down,  and  there  was  a  brown  adder,  and  some- 
how I  wasn't  afraid,  and  I  put  my  foot  on  its  head,  and 
Jemima  hit  it  on  the  back,  and  what  do  yovi  think  ? — it 
broke  in  half,  and  that  made  me  sick,  and  I  ran  away ; 
but  after  a  little  I  went  back  and  brought  away  the 
root.  You  please  take  it  with  my  compliments  to  Mr. 
Escott,  and  tell  him  my  nerves  are  getting  stronger; 
don't  forget,  my  nerves  are  getting  stronger,  I  can't  send 
Hans,  he'd  blunder  the  English,'  says  he." 

"  And  you  are  sure  he  is  now  quite  well,"  inquired 
Escott. 

Amos  replied, 

"  Well,  he  ain't  by  no  manner  of  means  what  I  should 
call  a  strong  lad ;  should  you,  sir  ?  but  he  is  a  merry 
one,  and  always  sociable.  Says  I  to  Mr.  George,  '  Why 
not  take  it  yourself,  and  show  it  first  to  the  ladies  at  the 
rectory  ?'  'No,  no,'  says  he,  'you  take  it  straight  to  the 
curate,  I  owed  it  to  him,  that's  why  I  got  it,  for  nothing 
else,  I  can  tell  you,  Amos ;'  and  so,  sir,  here  it  is  safe 
and  sound." 


CHAPTER  YHL 

CHIAROSCURO. 


ONE  of  Mr.  Escott's  first  visits,  after  he  was  able  to  go 
out,  was  to  the  Hatch.     He  owed  thanks  to  George 
Brown  for  his  chivalric  conquest  of  the  Pyrola,  and  to 


58  \  SKIRMISHING. 

Mrs.  Brown  for  polite  inquiries  made  by  Hans  in  his 
best  broken  English.  The  Hatch  lay  midway,  or  there- 
abouts, between  the  rectory  and  Mrs.  Slater's  farm- 
house, in  which  Escott  had  rooms.  Hitherto  Escott 
had  always  made  a  circuit  to  avoid  passing  the  Browns' 
gate ;  but  after  his  call  at  the  rectory  on  the  second  day 
he  was  able  to  go  thither,  he  stopped  at  the  Hatch  on 
his  way  home.  He  found  Mrs.  Brown  alone.  She  wel- 
comed her  visitor  courteously,  deviatmg  even  so  far  from 
her  usual  reserve  as  to  advise  him  to  take  a  chair  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  room  from  the  open  windows. 

From  where  he  was  seated,  he  could  see  the  lawn  with 
its  boundary  of  tall  evergreens,  the  monotony  of  colour 
and  line  broken  by  here  and  there  a  tall,  slender  moun- 
tain ash,  or  trembling  aspen ;  the  whole  steeped  in  golden 
sunshine.  A  gentle  air  wafted  into  the  room  the  odour 
of  a  bed  of  mignonette,  and  so  tranquil  was  it,  that  a 
large  hare,  after  reconnoitring  from  below  a  laurestinus, 
came  and  sat  on  tlie  smooth  shaven  grass. 

Escott  watched  the  uneasy,  timorous  beast,  its  cars 
restlessly  jerking,  strained  to  catch  the  slightest  sound. 
The  curate  forgot  that  he  was  silent.  He  was  yet  in 
that  stage  of  convalescence  wlien  utter  idleness  is  so 
grateful ;  when  one  is  better  ]»leased  to  watch  the  clouds 
sailing  over  tlie  sky,  or  the  waving  of  a  tree — or  even  if 
sky  and  clouds  and  trees  are  not  to  be  had,  better  pleased 
to  ti-ace  the  pattern  of  a  paper  or  a  carpet,  than  one 
would  be  to  listen  to  the  Avittiest  talker  of  our  ac(|uaint- 
ance. 

Escott  had  not  yet  recovered  liis  usual  .strenglli  uiul 
spirits;  both  had  been  tried  that  morning  at  the  rectory. 
The  children  had  got  a  holiday  because  mademoiselle  had 
gone  out  for  the  day;  conse(|uently,  they  were  ])erpetu- 
uUy  running  in  and  out  of  the  drawing-room  ;  then  the 
nurse-maids  were  as  perpetually  coming  to  look  after  the 
3'oung  ones,  or  one  servant  or  anotlier  liringing  in  mes- 
sages, occupying  the  attention  of  tlie  hidies.  Escott  liad 
not  been  aljh;  to  secure  live  minutes  of  Maud's  undivided 
attention.  Her  serenity  and  activity  would  have  been 
an  admirable  study  for  a  man  in  strong  health,  and  who 
did  not  care  to  have  her  sitting  cpiictly  by  his  side  with 
thoughts  and  words  exclusively  devoted  to  liiin.     He  was 


CHIAROSCURO.  59 

not  different  from  other  good  men,  who,  as  a  rule,  seldom 
show  greater  philosophy  under  small  interruptions,  than 
their  more  fallible  brethren.  Then,  too,  he  was  at  the 
rectory  close  upon  the  fatal  hour  for  the  arrival  of  ttie 
uniformly  tipsy  old  postman,  who  carried  the  letter-bag 
to  the  nearest  town,  and  Mrs.  Greatorex  had  still  a  letter 
to  finish. 

The  mother  of  the  family  being  unavailable,  Maud  wa§ 
applied  to  ;  it  was,  "  Tie  on  my  hat,  Maud,"  or,  "  If  you 
please,  miss,  old  Mrs.  Green  has  come  down  and  wishes 
to  speak  to  you."  No  one  at  the  rectory  ever  thought  of 
pleading  its  being  an  unseasonable  time  to  see  any  appli- 
cant. Maud  was  scarcely  in  the  room  again,  before  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere,  who  could  not  move  from  her  chair,  because 
she  was  holding  brown  paper  soaked  in  vinegar  to  the 
forehead  of  a  little  fellow  who  had  tumbled  downstairs, 
said, 

"  Do  up  the  newspapers,  my  dear." 

The  last  cry  for  help  came  from  Mr.  Greatorex ;  put- 
ting his  head  in  at  the  door,  he  called, 

"  Maud,  I  cannot  manage  this  parcel — it  must  go  to- 
day, will  you  come  and  see  to  it  ?" 

In  short,  the  scene  was  an  every-day  scene  in  houses 
like  that  of  the  Greatorexes.  Maud  knew  how  distaste- 
ful all  this  bustle  and  confusion  was  to  Escott ;  yet,  while 
her  deep  black  eyes  were  constantly  turning  towards  him, 
as  if  to  ask  pardon,  for  being  dutiful  and  forbearing,  she 
answered  every  call  with  courageous  good-humour.  Yes, 
it  was  courageous  to  be  cheerful  and  placid  when  the 
person  she  loved  best  was  looking  so  distressed;  her 
virtue  was  her  sole  reward  at  that  moment,  for  Escott, 
worn  out  by  internal  irritation  and  external  noise,  de- 
clined staying  to  dinner. 

"  It  is  not  your  fault,  dear,"  he  said,  replying  to  her 
look  of  disappointment. 

The  quiet  of  Mrs.  Brown's  sitting-room  was  just  what 
he  required,  and  she  seemed  to  divine  this,  for  she  let  hira 
sit  undisturbed  staring  out  at  the  myriads  of  ephemera 
hovering  over  the  grass,  and  the  rooks  flying  back  to  the 
old  trees  at  the  priory.  The  hare,  spurred  by  imaginary 
fears,  had  fled  long  ago. 

When  Escott  woke  up  out  of  his  dreamy  state,  he  saw 


60  SKIRMISHING. 

Mrs.  Brown,  a  small  table  before  her.  occupied  evidently 
•with  some  household  needlework.  Never  had  he  seen  a 
sweeter  picture  of  mature  womanhood  than  she  presented 
at  that  moment;  busy  yet  thoughtful,  the  movement  of 
her  fingers  was  rapid,  beautiful  fingers  on  one  of  which 
was  the  wedding  ring,  no  other  ornament  on  hand  or 
wrist.  The  contrast  between  her  homely  occupation  and 
the  elevated  cast  of  her  countenance  was  piquant  and 
attractive. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  be  so  patient  with  such  a  stu 
pid  visitor,"  began  Escott. 

"  You  came  in  very  tired,"  she  said  without  looking  up. 

"And  you  granted  me  the  best  remedy — perfect  repose. 
I  assure  you,  it  is  delightful  to  be  let  alone." 

"  You  mean,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  delightful  to  be  neg- 
lected when  you  are  not  in  the  mood  for  attentions." 

"  Perhaps — but  it  is  not  strange,  how  little  penetration 
people  in  general  have,  as  to  the  right  or  wrong  moment 
for  showing  one  attentions — and  the  worst  of  it  is  that, 
when  kindness  has  been  literally  forced  on  you,  you  are 
held  bound  to  be  grateful." 

"To  be  friendly,  at  least — grateful  is  too  stronsr  a 
word  V"  "^  " 

"  I  accept  the  amendment,"  said  Escott,  smiling ;  "  avo- 
men  arc  not  usually  such  nice  weighers  of  words ;  however, 
you  will  allow  me  to  say,  I  am  grateful  to  your  son  for 
getting  me  the  Tyrola — that  is  a  case,  considering  the 
fatigue  and  the  real  danger,  which  authorizes  the  word 
and  the  feeling.  I  should  like  to  thank  him.  I  trust  he 
Buflcrs  no  further  ill  cfTccts  from  the  adder's  bite  V" 

"  None  at  all,  the  swelling  only  lasted  a  couple  of 
days." 

"I  was  really  astonished,"  went  on  Escott,  "at  his 
doing  so  much  tor  me;  I  believe  1  was  something  rough 
with  him  the  last  time  we  met." 

"(jlcorge  is  good-natured,"  said  ]\Irs.  Brown,  quietly. 

"  I  wish  he  would  come  and  sec  me,"  said  Escott,  acted 
on  by  Mrs.  IJrown's  reserve  to  be  more  ex]iansive  than 
ordinary — the  potency  of  silence  caiuiot  be  overrated — it 
can  drive  a  timid  person  into  reckless  incaution — it  was 
tmder  this  sort  of  influenee  that  Escott  continued, — "As 
be  likes  exercise,  I  should  be  glad  if  he  would  sometimes 


CHIAROSCURO.  61 

join  me  in  my  walks.  I  am  not,  perhaps,  so  amusing  a 
companion  as  he  might  wish  for,  but  I  should  be  a  safer 
one  than  some  he  has.  You  are  not  offended  at  my  plain 
speaking." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  feel  all  the  kindness  of  your  attention," 
replied  Mrs.  Brown,  then,  without  taking  her  eyes  off  her 
work,  she  added, — "All  the  kinder  that  I  am  aware  there 
is  much  about  George,  which  must  be  displeasing  to  you. 
We  often  wonder  at,  and  are  repulsed  by  manners  and 
habits,  which  would  appear  natural  and  iuoCTensivc,  did 
we  know  the  peculiarities  of  circumstance,  or  education 
from  which  they  spring." 

"Be  the  cause  known  or  unknown,"  said  Escott,  "the 
effects  remain  the  same,  and  it  is  with  them  we  have 
to  do." 

However  charmed  with  Mrs.  Brown,  and  the  unruffled 
soothing  voice  in  which  she  spoke,  Escott  was  not  the 
man  to  accept  vague  excuses  or  explanations,  blindfold. 

Mrs.  Brown  glanced  her  eyes  over  his  face  ;  then 
again  continuing  to  look  at  her  work,  she  said  in  the 
same  even  tone. 

"  True,  the  effects  are  the  same,  but  our  judgment  of 
them  might  be  modified.  For  uastancc,  you  are  startled 
by  George's  wild  ways,  and  at  his  associating  familiarly 
with  the  children  and  young  people  of  the  village.  But 
he  has  been  brought  up  in  the  country  abroad,  where 
manners  are  much  more  democratic  than  anywhere  in 
England ;  and  from  a  child,  he  has  been  used  to  play 
with  the  children  of  peasants.  Indeed,  the  whole  social 
atmosphere  on  the  continent,  where  he  has  always  lived, 
is  so  different  from  that  in  our  own  country,  as  to  ac- 
coimt  for  much  that  perhaps  appears  strange  here." 

"  For  some  things  certainly,"  said  Escott,  "  but " 

he  hesitated,  as  if  seeking  the  least  offensive  form  in 
which  to  clothe  his  meaning. 

Mrs.  Brown  spoke  at  once,  as  though  she  desired  to 
anticipate  the  objection  trembling  on  the  curate's  lips. 
She  said  with  a  shade  more  of  decision  in  her  gentle 
tone. 

"  As  for  some  other  singularities  which  my  explana- 
tion may  not  include,  I  am  not  sorry  of  an  opportunity 
to  say  thus  much.     My  poor  child's   health,   till  very 


62  SKIRMISHING. 

lately,  never  allowed  of  any  kind  of  discipline  being 
used ;  hence,  even  now,  in  spite  of  an  excellent  heart,  he 
is  subject  to  fits  of  frequent  caprice  and  wilfulness.  Then 
again,"  here  Mrs.  Brown's  cheek  flushed  slightly,  though 
her  voice  was  as  calm  as  before,  "  George's  father  had 
some  peculiar  opinions  respecting  education ;  among 
others,  he  held  especially,  that  no  form  of  worship,  no 
particular  religious  persuasion  should  be  inculcated 
during  childhood.  He  thought  that  the  subject  of 
religion  should  be  reserved  for  that  age,  when  the 
human  being  could  bring  developed  faculties  to  the 
consideration  of  so  serious  a  question  as  the  choice  of  a 
creed." 

"An  exaggeration  of  even  Rousseau's  views,"  said 
Escott,  with  indignation. 

"  Such  were  the  influences  and  ideas  of  George's  early 
years,"  continued  Mrs.  Brown  tranquilly  and  without 
noticing  Kscott's  remark.  And  having  said  this  much, 
without  waiting  for  any  rejoinder,  she  abruptly  changed 
the  convcrsatiou  by  asking,  "  if  Miss  Grcatorex  was  fond 
of  botany." 

Escott  had  no  right  to  force  Mrs.  Brown  into  furtlier 
revelations  or  discussions  of  her  son  or  his  father,  so  he 
followed  her  lead,  and  Mrs.  Brown  being  herself  a  tolera- 
ble botanist,  and  having  at  hand  some  rare  specimens  of 
the  flora  of  Hwitzcrland  and  Germany,  he  was  speedily 
taking  an  interesting  ride  on  his  hobby-horse.  It  was 
not  till  Hans  opened  the  drawing-room  door  that  Escott 
remembered  to  look  at  his  watch,  and  to  apologize  for 
his  unconscionably  long  visit. 

"  Dinner  is  on  tlic  table,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  ;  "  if  you 
are  not  afraid  of  very  simple  fare,  1  think  you  had  better 
stay  and  dine  with  us — you  look  as  if  you  wanted  your 
dinner." 

Escott  hesitated  a  little,  then  cdiifi'ssod  that  he  did 
feel  greatly  in  want  of  food  and  frankly  acc('i)ted  the 
invitation.  Hans  took  him  upstairs  to  wash  his  liands  : 
when  he  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  he  found  (jeorge 
there  ;  in  a  sliy  mood ;  for  lie  made  no  answer  to  Escott's 
thanks  for  tlic  tb)\v('r,  and  was  silent  during  dinner.  'I'be 
dinner,  by  tbe  way,  merited  in  every  sense,  the  term 
simple ;  bread-soup,  cold  beef,  and  a  salad,  with  a  Gcr 


CHIAROSCURO.  G3 

man  pudding  hastily  concocted  by  Hans  while  the  meat 
was  on  the  table  ;  no  wine,  only  beer.  Mrs.  Brown  made 
no  apologies  for  the  deficiencies  of  her  table,  but  Escott 
fancied  by  the  way  she  brought  George  into  the  con- 
versation that  she  was  anxious  to  cover  the  lad's 
taciturnity. 

"  George  tells  me,"  she  said,  "  that  when  he  was  on 
Bishop's  Common  to-day,  he  saw  for  the  first  time,  a  hovel 
literally  built  of  mud,  and  thatched  with  nettles.  The 
house  was  in  fact  scooped  out  of  a  bank,  he  would  never 
have  seen  it,  but  for  a  paper  stuck  over  the  door,  on 
which  was  written,  '  Mud  Castle.'  He  says,  when  he  went 
in,  there  was  a  crowd  of  children  all  in  a  heap,  looking 
like  a  set  of  half-starved  little  birds,  and  the  father  an  old 
man  almost  bent  double,  crouching  over  the  fire.  Do 
you  know  anything  of  these  people  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  are  quite  respectable.  Hagar  is  a  hard- 
working man,  he  is  said  to  be  even  now  the  best  mower 
in  the  parish — he  has  a  good  clever  wife,  who  declares  she 
and  her  husband  have  never  had  a  mis-word  since  they 
married — but,  neverthless,  they  have  found  it  impossible 
to  fill  the  mouths  of  such  a  number  of  children  as  they 
have,  and  llagar  was  at  last  reduced  to  such  straits,  as 
to  have  to  send  his  wife  and  children  into  the  union.  He 
would  not  go  into  the  house  himself,  and  it  seems  he  built 
this  same  hovel  and  now  has  brought  his  family  to  what 
in  irony,  he  calls,  Mud  Castle.  Though  he  looks  decrepit, 
he  is  only  a  middle-aged  man." 

"  He  looks  as  though  he  were  seventy,"  put  in  George. 

"  A  sad  picture,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  "  and  one  I  should 
hardly  have  expected  to  find  here;  for  this  place  has 
hitherto  struck  me  as  cheeringly  prosperous,  free  from 
indigpnce." 

Escott  looked  pleased. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  we  have  very  few  families  oppressed 
by  poverty.  It  was  different,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Greatorex  came  here — no  schools,  no  clothing  clubs — no 
regular  church  service,  for  the  living  then  belonged  to  a 
pluralist ;  the  present  rector  and  his  family  have,  I  may 
Bay,  civilized  the  parish,  and  rendered  it  as  you  so  Nvell 
describe  it,  cheeringly  prosperous — yet,  even  here,  we 
dare  not  boast,  that  no  destitution  exists." 


64  SKIRMISHING. 

"  Surely."  said  Mrs.  Brown  thoughtfully,  "  there  must 
be  something  wrong  iu  a  state  of  society  which  caa 
reduce  an  honest,  hard-working  man,  like  this  Hagar,  to 
put  away  his  family  from  him,  because  he  cannot  with  all 
his  efforts  earn  wherewithal  to  keep  them  from  starva- 
tion." 

"  I  think,"  returned  Escott,  "  that  his  is  one  of  those 
individual  cases,  on  which  we  can  scarcely  build  a  theory. 
Most  frequently  destitution  arises  from  ill-conduct,  and 
that  again  from  the  not  having  had  sound  religious  princi- 
ples early  instilled." 

"Yet,"  persisted  Mrs.  Brown,  "we  have  many  in- 
stances where  poverty,  and  not  innate  viciousncs?  ('rives 
a  man  into  evil  ways — how  many,  whose  first  theft  haa 
been  caused  by  starvation  ?" 

Escott  said  testily,  as  a  man  does,  who  is  not  used  to 
contradiction  from  a  woman, — 

"  We  are  arguing  in  a  vicioiis  circle." 

"  I  am  not  arguing,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown  gently  ;  "  I 
am  only  feeling." 

"  It  is  dangerous  to  allow  our  feelings  to  guide  us  into 
raising  questions,  which,  pushed  to  their  logical  con- 
clusions, are  calculated  to  shake  society  to  its  founda- 
tion," said  Escott.  "  In  the  feeling  you  have  just 
expressed,  lies  the  germ  of  socialism  and  all  its  dangers." 

"  That  is  a  ground  I  will  not  break,"  said  the  hostess. 
"  Shall  we  go  to  the  drawing-room  ?" 

There  was  no  wine,  therefore  no  reason  why  the  curate 
should  not  follow  the  lady.  While  they  were  taking 
some  excellent  black  cofl'ee,  Escott  said  in  a  livelier 
tone, — 

"  For  all  we  look  so  quiet  in  Eden,  we  have  some 
romances  in  real  life  of  our  (»wu.  1  don't  know  if  you 
have  ever  noticed  a  pretty,  rather  elegant-looking  woman, 
the  wife  of  the  baker  who  lives  on  the  hill  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  liave  noticed  her,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  Well,  there  is  this  re])ort  current  about  lier,  that 
she  was  married  very  young  to  some  iniiii  she  in(>t  when 
on  her  first  visit  to  London  ;  that  within  six  montjis  of 
her  marriage,  this  luisband  disappeared— that  she  lias 
never  been  able  to  trace  liiin— never  lias  known  what 
became  of  liim.     It  appears  that  she  waited  some  years, 


CHIAROSCURO.  G5 

and  then  married  the  baker  Jonathan  Gilbert,  and  what 
is  the  strang:cst  of  all,  never  seems  troubled  by  any  mis- 
givings of  licr  first  husband's  turning  up,  and  the  possi- 
ble conseq\iences  to  her." 

"  And  what  would  they  be  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,  whether  there  is  a  legal  term 
for  a  man  or  woman's  patience  in  waiting  for  their  lost 
partner — but  the  law  I  believe  is  more  lenient  to  a 
woman  than  to  a  man  who  conmiits  bigamy.  Mrs. 
Gilbert's  case  surely  would  be  treated  lightly — for  she 
has  been  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  It  is  not 
like  a  case  where  a  woman's  happiness  has  been 
wrecked." 

"  George,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  "  Mr.  Escott  is  very  fond 
of  music,  go  and  play." 

"It  was  past  eleven  when  the  curate  left  the  Hatch. 
His  feelings  were  mixed  ones  as  he  pursued  his  way  to 
his  lodgings ;  he  had  been  pleased,  displeased,  then 
pleased  again.  Pleasure  being  the  last  emotion,  was 
uppermost,  and  he  was  inclined  to  be  merciful  in  his 
judgment  of  mother  and  son. 

"  They  have  accepted  shining  fallacies  for  truth," 
mused  he.  "  She  has  acquiesced  in  them  because  she 
was  attached  to  the  person  who  uttered  them,  the  origin 
of  most  women's  convictions — as  for  the  poor  boy,  the 
grain  of  millet  has  been  given  to  hun,  instead  of  the 
diamond." 

The  more  Escott  thought,  the  more  impelled  he  felt  to 
take  some  steps  to  bring  Dodge  to  an  understanding  of 
the  truth.  It  was  a  duty  that  lay  straight  in  his  path 
as  a  minister  of  the  gospel ;  he  must  neither  shirk  it 
from  personal  disinclination,  nor  blink  it  out  of  deference 
to  the  opinions  of  the  father,  as  quoted  by  Mrs.  Brown. 
And  with  this  resolution  Escott  laid  his  head  upon  his 
pillow,  and  "  sleep  covered  him  with  its  cloak." 


e» 


66  SKIRMISHING. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

"the   little   rift." 

f 

E SCOTT  had  gone  to  sleep  with  the  best  mtentions. 
Let  none  of  us,  however,  depend  on  the  goodness  of 
our  intentions  for  keeping  us  clear  of  trouble  or  blame. 
Even  should  they  not  turn  to  paving  stones  down  below, 
they  are  apt  to  form  a  very  rough  road  for  us  here  above. 
If  our  actions  admit  of  two  suppositions,  we  must  submit 
to  the  necessity  of  the  least  pleasant  being  the  one  ac- 
cepted and  adopted ;  people  always  do,  whatever  the 
matter  in  doubt,  be  it  love  or  war,  or  fortune  or  travelling, 
make  choice  of  the  most  disagreeable  hypothesis,  to  dwell 
upon.  And  of  all  those,  who  despair  most  of  mankind's 
rectitude,  who  see  naught  but  vanity  and  vexation  in 
their  neighbors'  doings,  commend  me  to  a  country  gossip, 
male  or  female.  It's  no  business  of  his  or  hers,  and  yet 
see,  what  watchings  liy  day,  and  by  night — what  wearied 
limbs  and  senses  belong  to  such  an  individual.  His  or 
her  inquisitive  mind  forces  its  way,  even  where  eyes 
cannot  see,  or  cars  liear. 

Eden  would  not  have  been  complete  without  its  gossip, 
and  it  possessed  a  rare  one.  ]5efore  ten  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  Maud  knew  that  Mr.  Escott  had  entered  the 
Hatch  at  half-past  four  the  day  before,  and  remained 
thereuntil  within  an  hour  of  midnight;  knew  that  Mr. 
Escott  had  greatly  enjoyed  liiniself,  and  walked  back  as 
brisk  as  needs  be  to  his  lodgings — quite  another  man, 
one  might  say,  to  what  lie  had  been  in  the  morning. 
Bits  out  of  real  life,  sound  strangely  exaggerated  to 
inexperienced  or  unobserving  jjcrsons — and  yet  who  so 
happy  as  never  to  liave  heard  tliat  formula,  "  It  is  said." 

Maud  hearing  this  agreeable  account  of  her  betrothcd's 
health,  liad  a  sudtlen  curittus  r|ualm  ;  it  was  just  as  if  a 
black  somctbiiig  liad  been  held  before  bcr  eyes,  shutting 
out  the  l)less('(i  siglit  of  day.  Some  iiisliiict,  as  strong 
as  tliat  of  self-preservation  in  women,  helj)ed  Jier  to  main- 
tain a  sliow  of  calmness,  so  long  as  slie  was  face  to  face 
with  her  informaut.     She  witlistood  the  strange  and  new 


"the  little  rift."  6t 

sensation  which  made  her  long  to  throw  aside  the  work 
she  was  at  that  particular  instant  preparing  for  the 
school  children,  and  which  was  indeed  certain  items  of 
her  trousseau.  Maud  had  begun  her  preparations  be- 
times, as  she  wished  that  every  article  that  could  be 
made  in  Eden  should  be  made  in  Eden;  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  think  hereafter,  that  all  that  beautiful  hem- 
ming and  stitching  had  been  done  for  her  by  friendly 
fingers. 

At  last  the  gossip  had  carried  away  the  cambric  and 
lawn,  and  Maud  might  follow  her  inclination.  She  hid 
herself  in  her  o^^ti  room ;  if  Maud  had  done  wrong  herself, 
she  could  not  have  been  more  anxious  to  hide.  She  was 
sore  and  sad,  she  said  in  her  heart,  "  that  to  be  with  him 
at  any  time,  still  more  so,  when  they  had  been  a  fortnight 
separated,  she  would  not  have  minded  the  noise  of  forty 
children,  or  the  bustle  of  the  General  Post  Office  at  six 
in  the  evening."  Maud  somehow  thought  of  a  picture 
she  had  seen  representing  that  peculiar  scone.  Yery 
odd  combinations  of  memory  and  ideas  crowd  upon  one, 
in  moments  of  trouble.  Then  arose  an  ardent  desire  that 
no  one  else  in  the  house  should  know  that  Escott  had 
dined  at  the  Hatch,  after  refusing  to  do  so  at  the  rectory. 
We  can  better  bear  a  grief  to  be  handled,  tlian  a  wound 
to  our  self-love  ;  so  sincere  was  this  feeling  in  Maud,  that 
she  at  last  came  to  the  decision  that  she  should  not  her- 
self much  mind  the  crime,  so  that  no  one  else  was  aware 
it  had  been  committed. 

While  thus  cogitating,  a  little  pebble  struck  her  win 
dow  ;  she  was  pretty  certain  whose  hand  had  thrown  it : 
and  suddenly  she  had  her  first,  very  first  impulse  to 
louder.  Another  pebble,  hitting  harder.  Maud  got  up 
from  her  chair,  opened  the  window  and  made  a  poor 
show  of  not  guessing  who  had  taken  the  liberty  of 
claiming  her  attention  so  unceremoniously.  Escott 
looked  up,  and  waved  to  her  to  come  down,  with  the  im- 
perial gesture  of  a  man  who  knows  he  is  despotic  monarch 
of  the  heart  of  the  young  lady  at  the  window.  lie  had 
made  his  own  reflections  that  morning,  and  felt  that 
Maud  and  her  family  had  some  right  to  find  fault  with 
him,  if  they  should  hear  that,  refusing  their  invitation,  he 
had  afterwards  accepted  one  from  Mrs.  Brown.     Escott 


68  SKIRMISHING. 

SO  reflecting,  bad  set  off  to  go  and  tell  his  own  tale  and 
confess  to  Maud  that  he  was  too  apt  to  let  trifles  put  him 
out  of  sorts. 

Escott  and  Maud  had  never  had  any  of  those  "  fallings 
out,"  which  are  the  dulcamara  of  courtship  ;  yet  Maud 
began  this  first  one,  as  well  as  the  greatest  adept  could 
have  done.  She  walked  majestically  down  the  stairs; 
slowly,  to  the  very  last  step,  in  spite  of  innocent  Carry's 
hastening  cry  of,  "Maud,  Maud,  don't  you  know ;  Walter 
is  in  the  garden  !" 

Instead  of  the  little  hurrying  trot,  that  had  not  an 
atom  of  dignity  in  it,  this  day  Maud  went  to  meet  the 
curate  with  a  full  recollection  of  how  to  manage  the 
goose-step  so  insisted  on  by  drill  sergeant  Taterson — 
very  upright  she  was,  and  in  her  slimncss  and  her  auda- 
cious disregard  of  a  hoop,  looking  wonderfully  like  the 
figure  of  the  girl  in  Millais'  picture  of  the  Huguenot ; 
her  eyes  though,  were  not  raised  full  of  unspeakable  love 
to  the  waiting  lover. 

Escott  understood  what  had  happened;  he  thought  he 
had  never  seen  Maud  look  so  piquantc  ;  it  was  his  turn 
this  morning  to  hasten  to  her.  Had  the  smoothness  of 
his  course  of  love  palled  on  him,  that  Maud's  pouting  so 
re-animatcd  him  ?  well,  everything  in  nature  shows  a  dis- 
taste of  monotony  ;  not  two  leaves  on  a  tree  alike— not 
the  skies  of  two  following  days. 

"Maud!"  he  exclaimed,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his; 
she  did  not  withdraw  the  pretty  little  dimpled  hands,  but 
she  let  them  lie  passively  in  his,  as  well  as  if  she  had 
done  the  same  a  hundred  times  before.  But  the  voice  of 
one  who  is  loved  is  as  potent  over  a  heart  as  Joshua's 
trumpet  6'ver  the  walls  of  Jericho :  three  times  Escott 
said,  "Maud  !"'  smiling  inwardly  at  the  way  the  wavering 
colour  in  her  check,  and  the  obstinately  downcast  lid, 
betrayed  that  she  was  all  but  conquered.  At  the  third 
summons  she  looked  up ;  he  met  her  eyes,  and  watched 
the  coming  l)ack  into  them,  of  all  tlioir  usual  joy  and 
tenderness  at  sight  of  him.  When  he  had  seen  that,  he 
said,  "  Now,  I  insist  on  plenary  absolution  before  confes- 
sion. T  am  very  generous  in  tlius  insisting,  for  otherwise 
you  would  have  no  merit." 

•'  J'.iit  1  have  made  no  accusation,"  began  Maud,  true  to 


"the  little  rift."  G9 

lier  sex,  who  cannot  forgive  half  so  well  when  asked,  as 
unasked. 

"  No  accusation  I"  repeated  Escott;  "eyes,  lips,  feet, 
from  the  top  of  this  little  head  to  the  sole  of  that  little  foot, 
you  were  one  formal  accusation  against  Walter  Escott. 
H'm  !  hasn't  the  second  curate  been  here  this  morning  ?" 
Second  curate  was  the  name  John  Earl  had  given  to  that 
wide-awake  person,  who  overlooked  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  goings  on  of  the  Edenites.  "And,  didn't  she 
tell  you,  how  this  your  prisoner,"  and  Escott  put  his  arm 
within  Maud's  and  walked  her  off  across  the  lawn,  through 
the  golden  sunshine  to  a  more  discreet  distance  from  the 
rectory  windows,  "  how  this  your  prisoner  dared  to 
appease  his  hunger  at  the  Hatch  after  saying  you  nay  ?" 

"  It  was  so  silly  of  me,"  said  Maud,  viewing  the  matter 
with  her  arm  squeezed  against  Escott's  heart,  quite  dif- 
ferently from  when  she  was  having  that  disagreeable 
tite-dUete  with  herself  in  her  own  room. 

"  Well !  I  shall  not  dispute  my  judge's  sentence,"  said 
Escott,  resuming  his  supremacy;  "  and  now  that  you  are 
not  angry " 

"  Oh  !  Walter,"  she  interrupted,  "  angry  is  going  too 
far." 

"  What  shall  I  call  the  feeling  that  made  you  hold  up 
your  head  so  becomingly  ?" 

Maud  said  it  was  "  only  being  a  little  put  out,"  not 
anger,  nor  anything  near  anger ;  she  protested  she  did 
not  want,  she  did  not  wish,  she  could  not  bear  explana- 
tions— "  pray  don't,  Walter,  or  I  shall  believe  you  think 
me  very  mean  and  foolish." 

"A  truce  to  explanation  then,"  as  if  he  ,Avere  very 
magnanimous  ;  it  is  alwaj-s  so;  the  position  the  one  gen- 
eral retires  from,  the  other  takes  up.  "  But  you  won't 
refuse  to  hear  my  story." 

And  Escott  most  conscientiously  related  how  and  why 
he  had  called  at  the  Hatch ;  how,  being  tired,  he  had 
lazily  sat  on ;  how  Mrs.  Brown  had  not  taken  any  pains 
to  entertain  him — he  dwelt  on  that  point ; — and  how, 
when  the  old  German  had  announced  dinner,  he  had  been 
so  surprised  it  seemed  almost  a  necessity  that  he  should 
stay.  He  added  that  he  had  made  an  excellent  dinner 
and  should  have  left  early,  but  for  that  odd  boy. 


70  SKIRMISHING. 

"  He  must  bo  a  musical  genius — his  playing  works  on 
my  feelings  in  a  way  no  other  music  ever  did.  He  makes 
the  piano  sing." 

"What  did  he  play?  Beethoven?  That's  the  most 
difficult  of  all  to  play  well,"  said  Maud,  whose  idea  of 
fine  playing  was  the  doing  of  that  which  she  herself 
could  not  accomplish. 

"  He  did  not  say ;  but  whoever  the  composer,  I  know 
now,  that  music  has  a  language  transcending  any  I  ever 
heard  spoken."  Escott  was  a  little  while  silent,  his  own 
words  had  recalled  some  of  the  sounds  which  had  so 
charmed  him  the  night  before,  and  some  also  of  his  own 
sensations.     He  started  when  Maud  asked, 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Brown  ?" 

"  What  I  suppose  every  one  must  tliink — that  she  is 
beautiful,  well-educated,  and  agreeable." 

"  Did  she  say  anything  which  made  you  understand 
why  they  came  hei'C  ?" 

"  Not  a  word.  After  all,  probably  the  reason  she  gave 
or  implied  to  your  mother  is  the  true  one — the  health  of 
her  sou." 

"  Then  you  are  now  reconciled  to  Mrs.  Brown,"  said 
Maud,  in  a  half-questioning  tone. 

"  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind,"  he  answered  smil- 
ing; "she  is  lady-like  and  pleasant,  as  I  said  before,  and 
she  has  a  charm  one  linds  in  few  men  or  women  :  she 
speaks  more  of  things  than  of  persons.  By  and  by, 
Maud,  that's  one  of  the  rules  we'll  make  and  keep  in  our 
house." 

Maud's  answer  sounded  as  if  she  had  no  wish  to  follow 
Mrs.  Brown's  example. 

"  That  would  be  difficult  in  a  clergyman's  house, 
Walter." 

"We'll  have  special  hours  then  for  sitting  in  judg- 
ment, and  after  that — a  forfeit  for  every  name  that  is 
named." 

Iteconciliations  show  us  the  love  that  is  in  our  own  and 
others'  hearts  much  as  a  magic  lantern  does  the  picture 
wliich  it  projects  on  a  wall — making  it  seem  for  a  moment 
larger  and  l)rigliti'r  tlian  tlic  reality.  Ileconciliations  are 
pleasant,  cortiiinly — yet  they  have  a  bitter  sourer,  and 
sometimes  the  after-taste  smacks  more  of  the  origin  than 


ONE   TALE   IS   GOOD,  TILL   ANOTUER'S   TOLD.       71 

of  the  offspring.  Let  us  see  what  Maud's  sip  of  the 
dulcamara  of  peace-making  did  for  her.  It  taught  her 
no  longer  to  go  through  the  day  placidly ;  able  to  give 
her  whole  interest  to  the  book  she  was  reading,  or  the 
flowers  she  was  cultivating,  hapi)y  when  he  came,  not 
unhappy  when  he  went,  knowing  that  the  morrow  would 
bring  him  back.  But  now,  often  she  did  not  understand 
what  she  read,  or  hear  what  was  said  to  her ;  she  grew 
breathless  for  his  coming,  as  one  who  doubts  and  fears. 
Maud's  heart  had  been  as  tranquil  as  an  unruffled  lake — 
it  was  no  longer  a  clear  mirror;  it  was  all  rippling  now 
with  wavelets  of  quickened  feelings. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ONE    TALE    IS    GOOD,  TILL    ANOTHER'S    TOLD. 

EDEN,  in  these  pages,  has  appeared  as  entirely  cut  off 
from  general  society,  save  for  the  infirm,  tipsy  old 
post-man,  as  though  it  had  been  surrounded  by  the  four 
great  rivers  of  its  namesake.  The  Greatorexes,  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere,  Mrs.  Brown,  Dodge  and  Escott,  and  back 
again,  Escott,  Dodge,  Mrs.  Brown,  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  and 
the  Greatorexes — a  gossip,  and  a  family  living  in  a  Mud 
Castle  ;  just  as  if  neither  carriages  nor  saddle-horses  ever 
entered  the  rectory  gates  ;  as  if  there  were  no  dinners 
given  or  gone  to ;  when  all  the  while  the  whole  sequence 
of  social  amenities  and  proprieties  were  observed  by  the 
Greatorexes  and  their  neighbours. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lonsdale,  the  couple  from  Australia,  were 
the  nearest  of  these  to  Eden,  and  people  who  live  within 
a  certain  distance  of  each  other  in  the  country,  are  always 
intimate,  till  they  (piarrel.  Thus  though  the  Greatorexes 
quizzed  the  family  from  the  colonics,  and  these  last  re- 
turned the  compliment  by  laughing  at  French  airs  and 
graces,  each  party  allowed  the  other  some  good  qualities, 
and  since  the  Hatch  was  let,  the  intimacy  had  redoubled. 
For  Mrs.  Lonsdale  was  as  curious  as  Mrs.  Greatorex  as 
to  Mrs.  Brown  and  her  son.  There  was  not  indeed  a 
hypothesis  applicable  to  a  woman  and  a  boy,  that  Mrs. 


72  SKIRMISHING. 

Lonsdale  had  not  put  forward,  and  seriously  speaking 
•without  any  ill-will  to  the  objects  of  her  doubts.  Once 
she  ventured  on  an  act  unparalleled  since  she  became  a 
wife — startled  her  husband  out  of  his  evening's  slumbers 
by  exclaiming,  "  I  am  sure  this  must  be  meant  for  Mrs. 
Brown."  And  she  read  from  the  second  column  of  the 
first  page  of  The  Times,  "  Q — in  the  corner. — All  safe. 
Forget  me  not." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  Mrs.  Brown?"  asked  Mr. 
Lonsdale,  querulously. 

"  Q — in  the  corner  !     I  am  sure  she  is  in  a  corner." 

Mr.  Lonsdale  muttered  something  not  polite,  and  went 
to  sleep  again. 

Another  time,  Mrs.  Lonsdale  guessed  that  ISIrs.  Brown 
was  the  famous  Ij —  M —  waiting  to  return  to  Munich, 
and  she  wanted  to  send  a  groom  over  to  offer  to  the  sup- 
posed exile,  her  own  saddle-horse,  not  up  to  her  weight 
now.  Then  she  remembered  that  Mrs.  Brown  had  a  son 
instead  of  a  notoriously  large  dog,  so  that  supposition 
had  to  be  renounced. 

At  first  Mrs.  Lonsdale's  conjectures  had  amused  her 
friends  at  the  rectory,  they  were  simply  preposterous ; 
but  she,  growing  tired  of  unsucccss,  broke  forth  one  day 
into  moralizing  on  the  subject,  and  of  all  tlie  people  in 
the  world  chose  Mrs.  Ijcscrimifere  for  auditor. 

"  There  must  be  something  wrong,  you  know,"  began 
Mrs.  Lonsdale,  "  wherever  there's  concealment,  there 
must  be  wickedness.     Every  one  agrees  to  that." 

"  Whatever  every  body  agrees  to  must  be  a  lie," 
retorted  Mrs.  Lcscrimifere,  "what  truth  has  ever  been 
universally  acknowledged?  Can  you  tell  me,  Mrs.  Lons- 
dale ?" 

"  Oh  !  that's  another  matter,  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Lonsdale,  her  colour  deepened  by  fear  of  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere,  "I  don't  pretend  to  be  wiser  than  other  people, 
but  Mr.  lionsdale  always  says,  that  rigiit  cun  bear  sun- 
light." 

"  Truth,  however,  you  may  tell  him,  lies  at  tlio  bottoir 
of  a  well,  and  lias  successfully  conceaUnl  luu-self  since  the 
beginning  of  the  world,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimibre. 

'i'liis  skirmish  silenced  Mrs.  Lonsdiih''s  ([ucstion  of 
"Who  can  she  be?"  for  a  considcralilc  tinH>. 


ONE   TALE   IS   GOOD,  TILL   ANOTHER'S   TOLD.       tS 

There  were  other  potentates  on  the  frontier  of  Eden 
who  troubled  themselves  about  Mrs.  Brown's  antece- 
dents. Now,  why  should  people  who  would  not  have 
condescended  to  enter  Mrs.  Brown's  doors,  think  about 
her  at  all,  gratuitously  talk  scandal  al)Out  her  ?  They 
had  no  other  reason  to  give,  except  that  she  had  not 
chosen  to  publish  her  history  for  their  curiosity  to  bat- 
ten on. 

"Well,  then,  the  whole  gamut  of  accusations  had  been 
run  down,  sotto  voce,  alta  voce,  and  then  suddenly  popu- 
lar opinion  veered  round.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greatorex 
having  called  at  the  Hatch,  were  bound  to  defend  their 
having  done  so ;  and  this  they  did  by  testifying  to  circum- 
stantial evidence  in  Mrs.  Brown's  favour.  Mr.  Escott's 
opinion — he  having  the  reputation  of  being  difficult  to 
please — had  double  the  weight  of  that  of  the  good- 
natured  rector  and  his  wife.  He  declared  he  had  dis- 
covered no  cause  of  accusation  against  Mrs.  Brown.  As 
for  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  her  word  went  for  just  nothing. 
Charity  has  only  theoretically  a  wider  sphere  of  influ- 
ence than  justice. 

The  ascending  scale  is  far  more  difficult  than  the 
descending  one.  Catalan!  said  so.  The  decision  applies 
to  more  things  than  the  voice.  To  bowl  down  hill  is 
easy— facilis  descens^is  Averni,  &c.,  but  starting  from 
the  Greatorexes'  tea-party,  the  gamut  of  suppositions  in 
favour  of  Mrs.  Brown  was  slowly  run  up — and  one  of  the 
first  consequences  was,  that  Mrs.  Lonsdale  went  in  her 
handsome  new  carriage  to  call  on  the  supposed  Q —  in 
the  corner.  The  heart  of  the  lady  from  Australia,  as 
she  drove  along,  was  full  of  some  of  that  spirit  of  adven- 
ture which  had  expanded  it,  when  some  score  of  years 
ago,  she  had  sailed  across  the  ocean  a  bride.  She 
intended  to  patronize  as  well  as  scrutinize  her  new 
acquaintance. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  perfectly  courteous  to  her  unexpected 
visitor;  so  polished  indeed  that  every  eff"ort  at  eluci- 
dation or  discovery  made  by  Mrs.  Lonsdale,  slipped 
aside. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale  began : 

"You  must  find  Eden  very  dull.  Did  you  expect  it  tc 
be  as  quiet  and  as  lonely  as  it  is  ?" 

7 


74  SKIEMISHING. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  been  aware  of  the  fact  tnat  the  Hatch 
was  situated  in  a  very  secluded  village. 

"  The  Greatorexes  must  be  a  great  resource  to  you," 
went  on  Mrs.  Lonsdale ;  "  it's  a  great  comfort  to  them  to 
have  a  decent  tenant  at  the  Hatch — not  been  always  so  ; 
it  makes  a  great  difference  to  them.  The  last  people  here 
were  troublesome ;  old  Miss  Earl,  John  Earl's  sister, 
called  them  '  rebellious  ladies.'  " 

"Indeed!" 

Mrs.  Brown  had  not  heard  anything  of  her  predeces- 
sors. 

"  I  am  sure  T  wonder  how  such  a  house  lets  at  all," 
said  Mrs.  Lonsdale.  "  I  should  be  afraid  to  live  in  it 
without  a  gentleman.  When  Mr.  Lonsdale's  away  for  a 
night  I  always  make  my  maid  sleep  in  the  dressing-room 
with  the  door  open  between  us ;  to  hear  some  one  breath- 
ing, gives  courage,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Brown  was  not  nervous,  and  was  a  good  sleeper. 

"  Lucky  woman  that  you  are  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lons- 
dale, warming  up  into  her  own  gossiping  self ;  "  but  then 
your  nerves  haven't  been  tried  like  mine,  out  in  Australia, 
you  know  ;  there  wouldn't  be  a  nerve  in  your  body  Avorth 
having  if  you  had  lived  the  best  years  of  your  life  with 
your  heart  in  your  mouth." 

A  chance  shot  oitcn  hits  the  mark;  but  Mrs.  Lonsdale, 
without  observing  either  the  smile  or  the  sigh  with  which 
Mrs.  Brown  received  her  assertion,  went  on  : 

"And  your  son,  what  does  he  do  to  amuse  himself? 
He  is  a  good  player  I  know,  but  music  is  not  enough  for 
a  boy.  I  hear  ou7-  curate  says  he  is  too  fond  of  running 
about.  Do  you  like  Mr.  Escott?  Folks  not  a  hundred 
miles  off  think  a  mighty  deal  of  him  ;  he  is  one  of  the 
Escotts  of  Escott,  only  a  younger  son,  thuiigh  he  gives 
himself  the  airs  of  a  lord;  but  between  you  and  me  he  is 
a  horrid  mufl'." 

As  Mrs.  Lonsdale  paused,  expecting  sonu;  reply,  ]\Irs. 
Brown,  who  had  no  distinct  idea  how  Mr.  Escott  could  be 
a  muO",  ihougiit  it  safest  to  say  she  had  only  twice  been 
in  c()m))any  witli  tlie  curate. 

"  Jle's  to  marry  Miss  (Ireatorcx,"  said  ^Irs.  Lonsdale. 

People's  word.s  have  often  more  than  one  meaning — 
Mrs.  Brown  must  have  understood,  or  else  she  was  very 


ONE  TALE  IS  GOOD,  TILL  ANOTHER'S  TOLD.   15 

cbtuse,  that  ]\[rs.  Lonsdale  pitied  Miss  Grcatorex  for 
marrying  Mr.  Escott.  Mrs.  Lonsdale  could  not  have 
given  any  other  reason  for  her  pity,  save  that  she  herself 
would  not  have  liked  to  marry  Mr.  Escott.  Tliough  she 
called  him  "  a  muff,"  she  had  no  ill-will  towards  him,  it 
even  flattered  her  when  he  talked  to  her.  Mrs.  Lons- 
dale's eyes  were  as  busy  as  her  tongue ;  she  was  setting 
down  in  her  memory,  that  Mrs.  Brown's  collar  and 
sleeves  were  "  lovely ;"  perfectly  absurd  the  wearing  them 
at  home  in  such  a  place  as  Eden,  with  no  one  to  see  them, 
for  Mrs.  Brown  couldn't  have  guessed  she  was  going  to 
call. 

The  fox  who  had  lost  his  own  tail  made  an  oration  to 
his  brethren  to  cut  off  theirs.  Mrs.  Lonsdale  spoke  to 
her  acquaintances  of  Mrs.  Brown,  she  had  been  to  the 
Hatch  and  she  was  glad  she  had  been.  Mrs.  Brown  was 
very  pleasant,  lady-like,  and  her  devotion  to  her  son  was 
really  very  touching.  Some  of  the  lesser  lights  of  twenty 
miles  round,  the  one  following  the  other,  called  on  Mrs. 
Brown.  There  was  the  family  who  sat  an  hour  without 
speaking;  another  who  all  spoke  at  once — there  were 
some  courteous,  some  brusque,  all  curious,  and  all  hospi- 
tably inclined. 

Mrs.  Brown  at  first  refused  all  invitations,  but  kind- 
ness is  difficult  to  resist,  and  when  a  friendly  note  came 
asking  her  to  spend  a  quiet  evening,  accompanied  by  the 
promise  of  sending  the  pony-chaise  or  carriage  to  fetch 
her,  she  went,  though  with  evident  reluctance.  'She  was 
so  unassuming,  that  the  ladies  liked  her,  so  handsome 
that  the  gentlemen  could  not  but  admire  her ;  they  talked 
to  her  (men  generally  do  to  pretty  women)  and  found 
that  in  spite  of  the  beauty  of  her  features  and  complexion, 
she  was  a  sensible,  accomplished  woman. 

Escott  enjoyed  her  conversation  more  perhaps  than  any 
of  his  elder  confreres  ;  the  key  to  the  stores  of  his  mind 
had  not  yet  rusted  in  the  lock,  for  want  of  use. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale  had  a  way  of  her  own  of  viewing  Escott's 
pleasure  in  Mrs.  Brown's  conversation.  She  had  rigid 
notions  of  an  engaged  young  lady's  duties  and  rights,  and 
very  rigid  ideas  as  to  those  of  a  lover.  She  felt  for  Maud 
on  such  occasions  as  she  would  have  felt  for  herself;  and 
in  her  sympathy  at  last,  whispered  to  that  young  lady. 


76  SKIRMISHING. 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  not  permit  it,  not  I.  I  advise 
you,  my  dear,  not  to  be  so  iutimate  with  Mrs.  Brown ; 
women  of  that  age  are  so  deep.  I  know  them."  Maud's 
eyes  dilated.  "I  don't  mean  anything,"  continued  Mrs. 
lago ;  "  it's  all  friendship  I  know,  only  my  opinion  is  and 
it  was  my  mamma's  before  me,  that  a  husband  should 
have  no  lady  friends,  not  if  they  were  even  grandmothers. 
Mr.  Lonsdale  never  dared  to  talk  to  any  lady  but  me 
after  we  were  engaged.  No,  no  ;  no  interlopers  for  me 
• — "  a  pause  then,  "what  beautiful  eyes  she  has,  and  she 
knows  it."  A  deep-felt  indignation  emphasized  Mrs. 
Lonsdale's  sentence. 

Maud  could  not  help  looking  with  curiosity  at  Mrs. 
Brown  and  the  curate.  Certainly  it  was  with  decided 
admiration  that  Escott  was  regarding  his  fair  companion ; 
he  would  not  have  been  a  man  had  he  done  otherwise ; 
but  there  was  not  a  thought  in  his  mind  that  could  have 
offended  Maud.  Mixing  with  his  admiration  was  a  sort 
of  wondering  compassion  that  the  l)Oiiuliful,  gifted  crea- 
ture talking  to  him,  should  be  more  like  a  neglected  weed, 
than  the  carefully  cherished  flower  of  some  manly  heart, 
as  it  seemed  natural  to  expect. 

But  wliat  is  to  be  said  of  ^Irs.  Lonsdale  or  any  such, 
who  sows  the  first  suspicion  in  a  youtliful  mind  ?  Oh ! 
if  we  would  only  avoid  silliness  as  sedulously  as  poverty. 
We  hear  it  said  by  way  of  defence,  for  having  a  foolish 
accpiaintance,  "  she  is  silly,  but  there's  no  harm  in  her." 
Perhaps  not,  but  a  great  deal  of  danger.  There's  a  mon- 
strous difference  between  a  probe  in  skilful  or  unskilful 
hands ;  at  any  rate  let  us  remember,  that  "  lie  wlio  licks 
honey  from  tliorns  will  pay  for  it,"  and  that,  "The  ass 
often  treads  down  the  most  beaut ifiil  llowcrs." 

Mrs.  Lonsdale's  stupid  remarks  did  not  apparently  pro- 
duce any  effect  on  Maud,  but  they  had  nevertheless  sunk 
into  her  mind.     At  tlie  moment,  she  answered, 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Brown  has  fine  eyes:  Dodge's  are  larger 
and  brighter,  sometimes  painfully  l)right." 

Mrs.  Lonsdale,  tapping  her  own  forehead  significantly, 
said, 

"Your  mother  thinks  there  is  something  wrong  here. 
Where  is  he  this  evening?" 

"  Ho  will   never  come  to  us,  if  there's  to  l)c  anybody 


ONE   TALE   IS   GOOD,  TILL    ANOTHER'S   TOLD.       TT 

besides  ourselves ;  because  then  he  won't  see  my  sister 
Carry,  the  only  one  of  us  he  cares  much  for :  he  grows 
shyer  every  day,"  said  Maud. 

"His  mother  lets  him  have  too  much  of  his  own  way," 
said  Mrs.  Lonsdale. 

"I  think  she  is  afraid  of  drawing  people's  attention  to 
his  oddities,"  pleaded  Maud. 

"  She's  a  poor  spiritless  thing  in  my  opinion,  the  sort 
of  lackadaisical  doll  men  admire,  does  nothing  all  day 
that  I  can  find  out,  but  read  and  work." 

Maud's  account  of  George  was  exact — he  refused  every 
invitation,  would  not  even  take  a  bachelor's  dinner  with 
Escott,  who  repeatedly  and  with  intention  invited  him. 
Indeed  George  went  to  no  gentleman's  house  except  to 
the  rectory,  and  there  only  when  there  was  no  company. 
Mrs.  Greatorex  had  taken  him  to  task  for  his  want  of 
good-nature  with  his  music,  but  failed  after  that  first 
evening  when  he  played  for  her  unamusable  guests,  ever 
to  make  him  yield  a  second  time.  He  laughed  at  all  her 
reasons,  and  told  her  he  didn't  mean  to  put  on  a  coat  for 
many  a  year,  and  perhaps  never,  and  that  in  his  velvet 
tunic  he  should  be  taken  for  a  showman  or  strolling  player; 
no,  he  would  come  and  play  as  often  as  she  liked  when 
they  were  alone,  but  he  neither  could  nor  would  in  a 
party.  He  hated  all  he  had  heard  of  parties  ;  his  mother 
said,  they  were  insipid  plays  acted  by  stupid  actors  ;  that 
every  one  was  delighted  when  the  curtain  dropped,  and 
they  were  at  liberty  to  say,  "They  had  been  nearly  suffo- 
cated by  trying  not  to  yawn." 

"  Then  your  mother  used  to  go  to  parties  ?"  asked  Mrs 
Greatorex  promptly. 

"  She  must,"  said  George,  with  a  great  appearance  of 
naivet6,  "for  she  hates  them." 

"You  don't,  then,  remember  her  being  so  gay?"  per- 
sisted Mrs.  Greatorex. 

"  It  was  when  I  was  a  child,  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  clung  obstinately  to  her  idea  of  George 
being  of  unsound  mind  ;  she  always  called  him  "  poor 
Dodge,"  and  petted  him,  in  spite  of  his  resistance.  It 
must  be  owned  that  he  bore  with  the  same  equanimity — 
being  quizzed  by  the  children,  coaxed  or  lectured  by  the 


78  SKIRMISHING. 

elders,  excepting  indeed  a  word  of  reproof  or  satire  from 
Escott.  Then  his  eyes  would  flash  and  his  nostrils  dilate, 
and  his  whole  look  would  be  that  of  mad,  helpless  passion. 
One  evening  in  particular,  at  the  rectory,  when  Escott, 
to  retaliate  some  slight  of  Dodge's  to  Maud,  had  been 
peculiarly  sharp  to  him.  Dodge  had  suddenly  burst  into 
tears  and  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

Escott,  as  he  was  going  home  an  hour  afterwards, 
caught  sight  of  the  short  figure  in  a  blouse  sitting  discon- 
solately on  a  gate  by  the  roadside. 

"  Come  here,  youngster,"  cried  the  curate,  "  while  I 
give  you  a  lesson  you  ought  to  have  learned  before  this. 
Don't  you  know  that  it  is  a  man's  duty  to  behave  cour- 
teously to  women." 

"  I  am  not  a  man,"  said  Dodge,  sulkily. 

"  You  are  old  enough,  however,"  retorted  Escott,  "  not 
to  be  treated  as  one  would  treat  a  child  like  Charles 
Greatorex,  had  he  behaved  as  you  have  done  to-night, 
and  indeed  on  many  other  occasions,  to  Miss  Greatorex. 
She  is  invariably  kind  to  you,  forbearing  to  a  fault,  and 
you  almost  always  treat  her  with  rough  indiflerence.  I 
will  not  describe"your  manner  by  another  name,  because 
I  am  unwilling  to  think  you  have  a  bad  heart." 

"I  cannot  pretend  to  like  where  I  do  not,"  answered 
Dodge,  sullenly. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  such  an  avowal  with 
regard  to  one  of  God's  best  creatures,"  said  Escott,  hotly. 

There  came  no  reply,  and  Escott,  whose  temper  was 
ruffled  first  by  the  incident  itself  and  then  by  Dodge's 
obstinacy,  hurried  on  without  saying  good-night.  Escott 
was  by  no  means  an  attentive  lover,  he  was  reserved  to 
an  error,  in  all  outward  shows  of  tenderness,  yet  it  was 
scarcely  possible  to  anger  him  more  than  by  any  oversight 
or  unki'ndness  to  Maud.  Before  he  reaclu'd  his  lodgings 
his  ire  had  cooled,  and  he  reproacheil  liiniself  for  not 
having  made  use  of  this  chance  meeting  to  say  that,  to 
young  Brown  which  he  had  tried  to  make  an  ojiportunity 
for  saying,  by  inviting  him  to  dinner.  And  then  Escott 
fell  to  speculating  as  to  how  so  charming  a  motlu>r  could 
have  so  wilful  a  child,  lie  was  unwilling  to  be  very  hard 
on  so  agreeable  a  lady.  lie  had  never  before  found  any 
difficulty   in   deciding   as   to   wliat   he   thought    of    his 


WOE   TO   THE   CONQUERED.  79 

acquaintances,  and  he  had  hitherto  nevci*  liked  any  one, 
without  being  certain  that  he  also  esteemed.  Now,  he 
did  undoubtedly  like  Mrs.  Brown,  nay,  he  felt  ready  to  do 
her  any  service  in  his  power,  yet  really,  except  so  far  as 
her  beauty,  manners,  and  conversation  went,  he  knew  no 
good  of  her.  Pious,  she  assuredly  was  not,  as  he  compre- 
hended the  word,  and  as  a  mother,  visibly  careless.  Might 
he  not  venture  to  give  her  a  hint  or  two  on  this  last 
point?  No,  on  further  consideration,  he  would  stick  to 
his  first  plaa  of  speaking  to  the  youth  himself. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WOE   TO   THK   CONQUERED. 


THE  leaves  were  yellow  as  gold  on  the  tall  poplars  in 
the  avenue  leading  to  the  Castle  Hill,  when  Escott 
one  day  overtook  George  Brown  there  ;  they  had  not  met 
for  a  week,  not  since  the  night  of  the  fracas  noticed  in 
the  last  chapter.  The  curate  held  out  his  hand  in  token 
of  renewed  amity,  saying, — 

"  I  am  going  over  the  hill  to  Bowick,  will  you  walk 
with  me  ?"  George  hesitated.  "  My  good  boy,"  went  on 
Escott,  "  you  must  get  rid  as  fast  as  you  can  of  the 
childish  habit  of  sulking ;  in  going  through  the  world 
you  must  learn  to  take  as  well  as  to  give  ;  if  you  offend, 
you  must  be  ready  to  meet  the  consequences.  If  I  was 
too  harsh  to  you  the  other  evening,  the  circumstances 
were  aggravating.  Let  bygones  be  bygones ;  come 
along  with  me.  I  want  your  com])any  particularly  to- 
day." George  still  hung  his  head,  )jut  kept  by  the 
curate's  side.  Escott  was  a  first-rate  walker,  and  urged 
by  a  sharp  wind  he  stepped  out  smartly.  Pursuing  the 
same  idea,  he  said,  "  Had  you  ever  been  to  a  public 
school,  all  nonsense  would  have  been  taken  out  of  you 
long  ago.  You  must  try  now  and  do  that  for  yourself ; 
ah !  I  see  I  am  going  to  fast  for  your  short  legs." 

They  were  at  that  moment  crossing  "  Eden  Roughs  ;" 
the  ground  was  pierced  in  every  direction  with  rabbit- 
holes;    little     grey-looking    lumps    with    white     scuts. 


80  SKIRMISHING. 

bounded  into  life  as  the  walkers  came  near,  burrowing 
into  the  earth,  or  vanishing  into  the  brake,  with  all  the 
celerity  of  terror. 

"  Fine  fun  for  Master  Charles  Greatorex  and  his  ferret 
here,"  began  George,  without  any  appearance  of  having 
heard  what  the  curate  had  been  saying  to  him. 

"  I  wonder  you  do  not  sometimes  go  out  with  Charlie," 
said  Escott ;  "  he  is  not  so  old  as  you  are,  but  he  is  au 
intelligent  little  fellow,  and  in  my  opinion  a  more  suitable 
companion  for  your  walks  than  some  you  choose." 

'•Perhaps,  but  not  so  agreeable,"  retorted  George  with 
a  most  provoking  saucy  air  and  smile. 

Escott,  who  had  been  seeking  how  most  kindly  to  in- 
troduce the  subject  on  which  he  wished  to  give  advice, 
lost  his  patience  and  said  sharply, 

"  Foreign  habits  won't  answer  here.  I  am  afraid  you 
are  far  from  being  a  good  boy." 

George  turned  a  face  bubbling  over  with  mischievous 
glee  on  his  mentor,  and  asked, 

"What  makes  you  think  so  ill  of  me,  Mr.  Escott? 
Fray  explain  what  evil  foreign  habits  I  have  imported 
into  Eden." 

Escott  had  a  temper  that  never  brooked  being  defied; 
he  knew  his  fault,  and  to  keep  it  in  check  was  a  daily  dis- 
cipline. Ife  recovered  his  self-control  in  the  minute 
George  took  to  ask  this  question,  and  answered  with 
calmness, 

"  I  allude  to  your  constant  practice  of  seeking  the  com- 
pany of  the  young  girls  of  the  village ;  it  is  an  odd  taste 
in  a  young  gentleman,  who  might  have  the  society  of  his 
equals." 

"  Ah  !  the  foreign  habit  you  denounce,"  said  Ceorge, 
interrupting  Escott,  "  is,  that  I  don't  show  a  suflicient 
sense  of  my  own  snjieriority.  You  see  I  have  not  liad 
the  advantage  of  being  brought  up  in  England.  Where 
we  lived  before  we  came  here,  I  was  taught  to  treat  the 
villagers  as  if  they  were  of  the  same  clay  as  myself. 
Que  voulcz-vous?  It  is  my  misfortune  not  my  fault,  the 
not  Imving  more  respectable  ways."  All  mcrrinuMit  had 
left  George's  face,  and  Escott  was  struck  by  a  liauglitiness 
not  without  grace  in  the  air  of  the  boy's  whole  person. 
He  looked  like  a  little  juincc  rcbukintr  some  forward  sub- 
ject.    'J'liey  walked  on  for  .<omio  few  minutes  in  silence. 


WOE   TO   THE   CONQUERED.  81 

"You  were  a  child  then,"  re-commcuocd  Escott:  "it 
is  high  time  to  give  up  chihlish  habits  when  they  can  no 
longer  be  innocent  or  unhurtlul.  Do  you  never  think 
seriously  on  any  subject,  never  think  of  how  best  to 
employ  your  youth  ?" 

"No,  never;  soon  enough  to  do  that  when  necessity 
forces  me  to  do  so,  if  that  should  ever  be." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  advise  you  as  to  the  future,"  said 
Escott;  "you  have  your  mother  and  doubtless  other 
friends  to  counsel  you.  I  will  only  bid  you  remember 
that  a  youth  of  idleness  is  father  to  a  maturity  of  weari- 
ness." 

They  were  passing  along  the  brow  of  tlie  liill  and 
Escott  broke  off  his  speech  to  gaze  on  the  lovely  landscape 
often  seen,  never  wearied  of.  Down  below  them  in  front, 
lay  a  long  plain  lit  up  by  the  sun  to  look  like  gold  with  a 
border  of  emeralds  ;  beyond  that  again,  the  sparkling 
restless  sea.  To  their  right,  all  in  shade,  a  narrow  valley 
with  a  grey  church  on  which  lay  the  weight  of  eight  cen- 
turies. It  had  been  rifled  of- its  pictures,  its  relics,  and 
its  jewels ;  its  chapel  desecrated,  most  of  the  brasses 
inlaying  the  pavement  of  the  nave  and  aisles  torn  up ; 
but  the  worst  Vandalism  of  all,  which  had  no  great,  if 
mistaken,  cause  in  view,  occurred  in  our  own  times.     Its 

churchwardens  made  a  bargain  with  a  glazier  of  Z 

to  take  in  exchange  for  furnishing  the  church  with  new 
windows,  the  remnants  of  rich  painted  glass  that  had 
escaped  the  fury  of  religious  oi)iuions,  and  which  the 
Bowick  burgraves  thought  had  a  shabby  look. 

The  sunk  road  down  to  Bowick  was  cut  through 
chalk  banks,  with  a  layer  at  top  of  yellow  brown  earth, 
over  which  hung  a  fringe  of  lung  grass,  with  here  and 
there  a  stunted  thorubush,  from  whence  came  a  robin's 
song.  The  barren  solitude  of  the  hill  made  the  blue 
smoke  curling  from  the  roofs  of  the  houses  below  look 
more  cheerful  and  inviting.  On  one  side  of  the  battered 
old  church  were  conspicuous  three  Scotch  firs — the  centre 
one,  the  tallest.  Facing  the  Lichgate  was  a  long  low 
building. 

As  Escott  left  the  Downs  for  the  road,  he  said, 

"I  don't  think  you  know  the  lluttons,  do  you?  The 
family  who  live  where  those  three  firs  are  ?" 


82  SKIRMISHING 

George  knew  them  only  by  name. 

"  Those  three  trees,"  went  on  the  curate,  "  represent 
the  three  sons.  Mr.  Hutton  planted  one  at  each  of  their 
births.  The  middle  one,  called  Harry's  tree — that  is 
the  second  son's — has,  as  you  see,  out-topped  the  other 
two  ;  he  was  a  peculiarly  handsome  child,  and  a  gipsy 
predicted  he  would  be  the  one  to  raise  the  family,  and 
the  extra  growth  of  the  fir  seemed  to  his  father  a  sort 
of  confirmation  of  the  prediction.  The  prophecy  will 
bring  about  its  own  fulfilment.  In  the  first  place  Henry 
was  sent  to  the  London  University,  instead  of  being 
allowed  to  finish  his  education  at  a  country  school,  and 
having  a  good  memory  and  not  overmuch  of  reflection, 
he  passed  creditable  examinations.  Besides  this,  he' 
was  a  pleasant  fellow,  always  agreeing  with  his  company 
for  the  time  being;  and  thus  he  made  friends,  and  the 
end  of  it  was,  that  a  father  of  one  of  liis  chums  took  him 
into  his  counting-house,  with  the  promise  of  finding 
something  good  for  him  l)y-and-by.  That  occurred 
some  two  years  ago,  when  Henry  was  seventeen.  The 
something  good  came  this  spring,  and  the  young  man 
sailed  three  months  ago  for  Hong  Kong.  He  begins  at 
nineteen  with  a  salary  of  five  hundred  a  year.  The 
whole  Hutton  family  are  happy  and  proud.  The  father 
points  to  Henry's  tree  with  faith  in  its  promise.  I  saw 
Henry  Hutton  before  he  sailed.  I  never  saw  a  human 
face  with  more  of  the  satisfaction  of  well-earned  success 
in  it.  His  em])loyor  says  (and  ]\!r.  Hutton  will  tell  you 
so  every  time  lie  sees  you),  that  he  never  had  so  exem- 
plary a  lad  in  his  office.  Like  you,  he  did  not  seem  to 
acknowledge  any  differences  of  rank.  He  was  very 
affable,  very  socialile,  mixing  freely  M'ith  those  not  of  his 
own  station.  I  will  give  you  the  se((ucl  of  his  story  as 
we  go  home.  I  have  a  visit  to  pay  here."  And  Escott 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  a  short  lliglil  of  stone  steps  which 
led  up  to  the  wicket  of  a  small  garden  in  front  of  the  long 
low  building,  opjjitsite  to  the  Lichgate  of  the  church. 

"  Tray,  come  in  with  me,"  continued  Escott  to  (Jcorgc. 
"  I  shall  not  detain  you  long." 

(icorge  followed  Escott  along  tlie  ])alli  Ix'lwcen  goose- 
berry bushes  u])  to  the  door  of/Zic  shop  of  JJowick.  'J'ho 
window,  on  one  side,  diplayed  a  heterogeneous  store  of 


WOE   TO   THE   CONQUERED.  83 

articles,  a  segment  of  rich  plum-cake  was  side  by  side 
with  men's  braces  and  horn  buttons,  cheese  and  patterns 
lay  cheek  by  jowl,  caps  with  artificial  flowers,  were  sup- 
ported by  soap  and  candles.  A  painful  look  of  disorder 
pervaded  the  whole  sliow. 

The  door  opened  with  the  usual  sharp  tingle  of  a  bell, 
and  Escott  and  his  companion  entering,  found  Mrs.  Wood 
behind  her  counter  weighing  out  one  ounce  of  tea  and  two 
of  sugar  to  a  young  country-woman.  Very  visible  were 
the  traces  of  tears  that  had  been  rolling  over  Mrs.  Wood's 
not  very  clean  face ;  she  was  nevertheless  sharply  watch- 
ing that  she  did  not  give  one  leaf  of  tea  or  grain  of  sugar 
more  than  was  due. 

"Your  pleasure,  sir?"  she  said,  turning  to  Escott. 

"I  am  Mr.  Escott,  from  Eden.  I  heard  that  your 
daughter.  Charity,  was  much  worse,  and  knowing  that 
Mr.  Tewson  was  ill,  I  came  over  thinking  she  might  like 
to  see  me." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wood.  "  Mr. 
Tewson,  he  sent  her  some  books,  'cause  he  couldn't  come 
himself — the  '  Black  River'  and  some  'at  same  kind ;  but, 
poor  soul,  she  can't  make  it  out  to  read  now,  she's  past 
that,  and  a'most  past  hearing." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it."  Escott's  voice  showed 
he  really  was  grieved.  The  mother  felt  the  tone  of  sin- 
cere sympathy  directly,  and  went  on, 

"  The  doctor  he  have  ordered  her  cod-liver  oil,  but  she 
throws  it  up ;  and  port  wine,  she  can  keep  that  down,  it's 
the  9nly  thing  keeps  her  alive.  Lord !  we  thought  she 
were  gone  two  nights  ago,  and  then  she  war  better  next 
day," 

"  If  you  were  to  try  change  of  air,"  said  Escott ;  "  there 
need  be  no  difficulty,  you  know,  as  to  money." 

Once  more  a  tear  rolled  down  each  of  Mrs.  Wood's 
cheeks,  which  she  wiped  away  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 

"  It  ain't  no  use  to  trouble  her,  the  doctor  says." 

Here  George  touched  Escott's  arm,  and  just  a  little 
beyond  an  inner  door  was  a  girl,  almost  a  spirit.  Ilad 
she  in  spite  of  her  deafness  heard  her  mother's  words. 
It  seemed  probable  from  the  vague  look  of  fear  in  her 
large  beautiful  dark  grey  eyes,  and  the  slight  flush  rising 
on  her  waxen  cheeks.     Her  brown  hair  hung  down  the 


84  SKIRMISHING. 

sides  of  her  face  in  heavy  curls ;  but  for  the  indiscribable 
look  of  coming  death,  she  would  have  been  still  most 
lovely. 

Escott  held  out  his  hand  to  her,  and  raising  his  voice, 
asked  her  if  she  would  like  him  to  read  to  her.  She 
smiled,  putting  her  hands  to  her  ears. 

"  I  will  try,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Wood.  "  May  I  go  into 
your  parlour  with  her  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  may  if  you  like  ;"  then  she  screamed  out, — 

"Betsey,  here's  parson  Escott  coming  to  read  to 
Charity." 

Escott,  half  compelling  George  to  go  with  him,  fol- 
lowed the  sick  girl  into  the  parlour.  A  fine,  full-formed 
young  woman  was  sitting  there,  trimming  a  bonnet  with 
white  bugles  and  gold  flowers  ;  she  scarcely  looked  at  the 
new  comers,  but  propped  her  sister  up  with  pillows  ten- 
derly enough.  The  curate  drew  a  low  chair  close  to 
Charity's  hard  horsehair  sofa.  He  took  his  Bible  from 
his  pocket  and  read  to  her, — prayed  for  her,  and  with 
her ;  his  voice  always  so  full  of  melody  vibrating  now 
with  the  sweetest  and  noblest  feelings  of  a  Christian 
man,  was  like  the  voice  of  an  angel ;  his  face  glowed  with 
the  heavenly  spirit  filling  his  soul.  Did  Charity  hear 
him?  he  couldn't  bo  sure,  for  she  didn't  speak,  but  her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  his  lips,  as  if  eager  to  catch  the  words 
that  were  flowing  so  tenderly  from  them. 

AYlicn  he  ceased,  she  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it  with 
all  her  strength,  then  searched  his  eyes  with  her  own,  as 
if  seeking  an  answer  to  some  dire  question.  He  knelt 
down,  and  speaking  slowly  and  distinctly  repeated  a  psalm 
to  her,  a  groat  favorite  with  all  country  congregations, 
one,  that  if  she  caught  but  one  word  of,  she  would  be 
able  to  follow,  for  she  must  have  learned  it,  when  a  little 
child— 

"The  Lord  himself,  the  mighty  Lord,  vouchsafes  to  be 
my  guide,  the  shepherd  by  whose  constant  care  my  wants 
are  all  supplied.  In  tender  grass  He  makes  mo  feed  and 
gently  there  repose,  then  leads  me  to  cool  shades  and 
wiicre  refreshing  water  Hows.  He  does  my  wandering 
80\il  reclaim,  and  to  J I  is  endless  ])raise,  instruct  with 
humble  zeal  to  walk  in  his  most  rigliteous  ways.  1  pass 
the  gloomy  vale  of  death  from  fear  and  danger  free,  for 
there  His  aiding  rod  and  stafl'  defend  and  comfort  me  " 


TU    QUOQUE.  85 

She  smiled  two  or  three  times  while  he  was  reciting  the 
lines ;  when  he  had  done  and  rose  to  go  away,  she  was 
sleeping  with  the  smile  on  her  lips.  Betsy  had  dropped 
the  gay  bonnet  and  was  sitting  with  her  apron  over  her 
head. 

Mrs.  Wood  was  busy  talking  to  a  farmer-looking  man 
as  Escott  and  George  re-entered  the  shop.  She  looked 
at  the  curate  and  said, 

"  It's  all  right,  I  hope,  sir  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  answered,  with  emotion. 

"  She  did  never  do  more  harm  than  a  babby  as  I  knows 
of,"  went  on  the  mother ;  "  still  one  can't  know,  and  oh, 
Lord !  poor  child,  poor  child,  I'd  like  to  be  sure,  sir," 
here  she  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  crying, 

Escott  was  about  to  say  some  comforting  words,  when 
the  still  sobbing  woman  called  after  her  customer,  who  at 
sight  of  her  tears  was  leaving  the  shop, 

"I  say,  Tom,  I'll  speak  to  Wood  about  'em  lambs, 
they're  pets  like,  an'  she  wouldn't  bear  'em  to  go  to  the 
butcher." 

Escott  fairly  ran  out  of  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TU    QUOQUE. 


ESCOTT  had  been  extremely  moved  by  his  interview 
with  Charity  Wood.  The  mere  man's  feelings  domi- 
nated over  those  of  the  spiritual  pastor.  A  generous  in- 
dignation and  a  profound  pity  swelled  his  bosom ;  he  felt 
as  if  he  desired  nothing  so  much  as  to  meet  the  catifiT 
who  had  blighted  the  life  of  so  sweet  a  flower  ;  he  felt  in 
his  arms  the  power  of  ten  men.  Yes,  he  longed,  ardently, 
to  have  the  opportunity  of  laying  that  fortunate  young  Mr. 
Henry  Ilutton  without  ceremony  his  full  length  on  the 
ground.  The  curate's  thin,  well-cut  nostrils  quivered  and 
opened  with  righteous  scorn.  As  he  walked  hurriedly 
along,  his  footsteps  made  the  hard  soil  ring  again.  All 
at  once  he  became  aware  that  George  was  looking  at  him. 
He  grasped  the  young  gentleman  by  the  arm,  saying,  in 
a  husky  voice, 


86  SKIRMISHING. 

"  I  hope  you  have  received  a  warning." 

"  A  warning  ?"  repeated  George,  with  some  timidity. 

"  Yes,  a  warning.  I  took  you  with  me  to  the  house  we 
have  just  left,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  you  a  lesson. 
There  you  have  seen  the  effects  of  a  youth — not  older 
than  you  when  lie  began — amusing  himself  with  village 
girls.  Mr.  Henry  Hutton  considered  Charity  Wood  of 
of  the  same  clay  as  himself,  as  long  as  it  suited  him  to  do 
so,  but  it  was  a  different  story  when  fortime  favoured  him. 
I  look  upon  a  man  who  acts  as  he  has  acted,  as  worse 
than  the  midnight  murdering  thief:  the  one  kills  to  gain 
what  he  perhaps  needs,  the  other,  in  cold  blood,  bleeds 
his  victim  to  death  from  a  spirit  of  inquiry  as  to  the  value 
of  his  own  attractions.  Poor  little  thing  !"  and  Escott's 
voice  broke,  he  let  go  George's  arm  and  drew  his  breath 
hard,  as  he  breasted  the  hill. 

Escott  forgot  George ;  he  was  full  of  his  own  emotion — 
forgot  George,  did  not  see  that  he  was  obliged  almost  to 
run,  and  very  pale.  Presently  George  exclaimed  pant- 
ing, 

"  I  cannot  go  so  fast." 

Escott  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  stopped,  aston- 
ished and  not  a  little  perplexed  by  the  expression  of  the 
boy's  eyes  ;  he  had  seen  them  sparkling  with  fun  or  flash- 
ing with  anger,  grave  with  displeasure,  but  now  they  were 
hxed  on  himself  beaming  with  such  an  ecstacy  of  devo- 
tion, that  Escott  gazed  back  for  an  instant  confused. 

Then  returning  to  his  iirst  purpose,  he  said, 

"  George  Brown,  I  will  speak  jjlainly  to  you.  Tongues 
have  wagged  ])ret1y  freely  al)out  your  conduct  lately; 
your  name  has  been  coupled  with  that  of  Jemima  White 
and  Susan  Deane.  It  is  my  duty  to  warn  you,  chide 
you,  point  out  to  you  all  the  evil  consequences  you  will 
eventually  bring  on  yourself;  a  boy  of  sixteen  is  not  a 
child." 

"  I  liave  done  no  liarm,"  ))egan  George,  and  then  burst 
into  what  was  neither  a  laugh  nor  a  cry,  but  a  mixture 
of  l)o1h, — long  re])ressed  feeling  and  a  sudden  sense  of 
soinctliing  absurd,  produced  what  we  shouhl  call  in  a  girl, 
a  sliglit  fit  of  hysterics. 

Escott  turned  away  in  disgust. 

"  Don't  leave  nw  so,  Mr.  Escott,"  cried  George,  running 


TU   QUOQUE.  87 

after  the  curate.  "  I  really  am  very  sorry  I  laughed  ;  it 
was  not  at  your  advice,  I  assure  you;  indeed,  it  was  not. 
I  promise  I  never  will  walk  or  talk  beyond  what  common 
civility  requires,  with  any  of  the  girls  again.  I  will  not 
indeed." 

"  I  hope  you  will  keep  your  promise,"  said  Escott, 
ungraciously,  for  he  saw  that  CJeorgc  had  to  put  his  hand- 
kerchief to  liis  mouth  to  hide  a  laugh. 

"I  have  done  good,  not  harm,  to  Jemima,"  went  on 
"George.  "  She  and  Eben  have  made  up  their  quarrel, 
and  you  will  have  to  man-y  them  soon.  I  made  Eben 
half  mad  with  jealousy  ;  I  did  it  on  purpose." 

"  We  should  never  do  evil  that  good  may  come  of  it," 
returned  Escott,  very  grimly. 

"  You  have  always  thought  ill  of  me — hated  me,  Mr. 
Escott,"  said  George,  reproachfully ;  "  and  yet  you  do 
not  knoAV  any  real  harm  of  me.  1  believe  it  is  my  whist- 
ling and  laughing  offends  you.  Why  don't  you  hate  the 
birds  for  singing,  instead  of  liking  and  praising  them  ;  it's 
not  goodness  makes  them  warble  so  sweetly,  it's  their 
nature.  It's  not  badness  makes  me  laugh,  it's  my 
nature."  The  boy's  voice  died  away  in  a  little  mournful 
cadence. 

"  You  are  wrong  to  say  I  hate  you.  I  hope  I  do  not 
hate  any  one,"  said  Escott. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  me  the  favour  to  like  me,"  said 
George,  with  a  return  of  that  little  air  of  haughtiness, 
Escott  had  remarked  before;  "but  I  do  demand  justice; 
that  you  should  not  accuse  me  of  doing  wrong,  without 
being  sure  of  the  fact." 

"  True ;  but  you  may  deceive  yourself  as  to  your  wrong- 
doing, Ave  are  all  apt  to  deceive  ourselves  as  to  the 
amount  of  evil  in  our  own  actions,  there  is  always  a 
mistiness  in  our  judgment  of  ourselves.  We  make  excep- 
tions for  our  own  special  case.  I  speak  this  as  a  gener- 
ality. I  judge  of  you  by  report,  and  I  tell  you  frankly,  I 
disapprove  of  you.  Your  evident  want  of  belief  shocks 
me ;  you  have  in  you  no  foundation  for  goodness.  You 
may  not  feel  the  want  of  true  faith  now,  but  as  you  grow 
older  you  will  find  yourself  constantly  fighting  with  the 
air,  for  want  of  it.  God  help  you  in  the  hour  of  tempta- 
tion." 


S8  SKIRMISHING. 

"  I  am  what  I  have  been  made,  as  you  arc  wliat  you 
have  been  made,  I  suppose ;  but  pray,  Mr.  Escott,  let  me 
ask  you  one  question.  If  a  king  or  emperor  were  always 
to  strike  down  the  good,  kill  the  innocent,  and  let  the  bad 
be  prosperous,  should  you  believe  in  the  goodness  of  that 
sovereign  ?  Why  should  Henry  Hutton  prosper  and 
Charity  Wood  die  ?" 

Escott  looked  towards  the  questioner,  but  George's 
head  was  turned  awoy. 

"  You  are  a  sharper  chap  than  I  took  you  for,"  said  the 
curate.  "  I  understand  the  drift  of  your  question.  To 
the  unbeliever,  of  course  every  kind  of  evil  must  appear 
absolute,  and  therefore  a  moral  evil  in  God's  dealing  with 
man.  No  doubt  mystery  does  hang  over  many  of  God's 
ways.  But  even  then.  Faith  can  look  confidently  for 
some  final  winding  up,  some  explanation  or  beneficial 
result  here  or  hereafter.  To  talk,  however,  of  Revelation, 
or  of  the  law  of  Sacrifice  to  blind  Unbelief,  is  nonsense," 
said  Escott,  interrupting  himself:  "  only  remember.  Un- 
belief involves  us  in  deeper  mystery  than  Faith.  Faith 
cannot  account  indeed  for  the  existence  of  so  much 
apparent  evil.  Faith  waits ;  and  have  we  not  often  to 
suspend  our  judgment  and  wait  with  faith  even  for  our 
fellow-creatures  to  exi)lain  their  ways  and  words?" 

It  was  George's  turn  to  examine  Escott's  coimtenance. 
After  a  little  silence  the  boy  said,  with  something  of 
petulent  interrogatitm  in  his  tone, 

"Tlio  'J'ransteverini  are  the  strictest  observers  of 
church-going  iji  the  world,  yet  tlie  knife  is  ever  ready  to 
their  hand." 

"  Superstition  is  not  religion,"  was  the  short  answer. 

They  had  now  reached  the  same  place  at  which  they 
had  met  in  the  forenoon. 

"Here  oiir  roads  ])art,"  said  Escott;  the  words  had 
some  discourtesy  in  tiiem;  trutli  to  say,  the  curate  was 
desirous  of  closing  what  seemed  to  him  a  ))rofilIess  con- 
versation, (icorge  lifted  his  ca])  with  much  of  his  usual 
careless  air  and  walked  away  a  few  ste[)S ;  then  he  sud- 
denly turned  and  hastened  alter  Escott. 

"  1  liojie  you  arc  not  ang'ry  with  me,"  lie  said,  llis 
cheeks  were  deeply  tlushcd,  or  ])crh;ii)S  it  was  only  the 
rcfli'ction  of  the  setting  sun  which  had  dyed  wood.s  and 
hills  of  a  deep  ])urple. 


TU   QUOQUE.  89 

"  Angry  ?  no  !  I  wish  that  you  and  all  mankind  might 
be  partakers  of  the  same  blessings  1  myself  enjoy." 

"  My  life  is  a  nonsense,"  burst  out  George,  impetuous- 
ly.   "  1  don't  wish  to  live ;  no,  I  do  not." 

"  Wrong  again,"  and  this  time  Escott  spoke  more  gen- 
tly, for  he  distinguished  signs  in  the  lad's  face  which  told 
of  deep  emotion  checked.  Escott,  who  was  himself  for- 
ever struggling  to  master  all  his  corporeal  faculties,  had 
an  immediate  sympathy  with  this  effort  at  restraint. 
"We  will  have  a  talk  some  other  day,  George.  Come, 
let  us  shake  hands,  as  friends  to  be." 

In  the  evening  after  the  newspaper  had  been  perused, 
and  Escott  was  meditating  if  any  duty  of  the  day  yet 
remained  to  be  done,  his  thoughts  returned  to  the  morn- 
ing's scene  at  Bowick,  and  then  gradually  veered  round 
to  George  Brown.  We  often  receive  impressions  of 
which  we  take  no  notice  at  the  time  of  their  reception. 
Escott  now  remembered  how  clammy  cold  the  boy's 
hand  had  been  when  he  had  shaken  hands  with  him,  and 
from  that  point  he  re-ascended,  as  it  were,  the  Vt'hole 
course  of  their  previous  conversation,  nor  did  he  fail  to 
recollect  the  strange  overpowering  expression  with  which 
Georges  had  looked  at  him  on  the  hill. 

"Wliat  he  said  to-day,"  went  on  Escott,  communing 
with  himself,  "  shows  him  to  be  far  from  deficient  in  re- 
flection, indeed,  few  boys  of  his  age  would  have  made  the 
observation  he  did ;  his  Latin  has  been  neglected,  but 
he  has  been  taught  to  think.  I  wonder  who  and  what 
these  people  are,  what  their  history,  for  a  history  they 
must  have,  and  a  strange  one,"  and  then  again,  that  in- 
tense look  of  feeling  rose  before  the  curate  puzzling  and 
jxTple.xing  him.  Where  had  he  ever  met  such  a  glance 
before,  it  was  unfamiliar ;  yet  surely  he  had  seen  such  a 
one,  or — was  it  only  such  as  he  had  pictured  to  himself 
on  reading  some  thrilling  history  of  a  man's  life  ? 

Escott  was  unhinged  for  his  study  of  llel)rew,  he  could 
not  fix  his  attention  so  as  to  discriminate  between  dots 
and  no  dots. 

Have  we  not  all  experienced  that  state  of  mind  which 
makes  us  go  for  synij)athy  to  a  book  ?  When,  for 
instance,  we  are  labouring  under  the  too  great  fulness  of 
our  hearts,  we  could  not  unveil  those  quick  beats  to  any 

8* 


90  SKIRMISHING. 

human  eye,  we  could  not  ask  from  human  lips  to  clear 
up  for  us  the  meauing  of  some  vague  awakening  feeling — 
half  joy,  half  alarm.  And  then,  do  we  not  go  to  the 
well-known  book-shelf,  and  give  up  the  key  of  the  inner 
sanctuary  to  some  gloved  author?  The  gifted  one  puts 
order  into  the  chaos  of  our  thoughts,  throws  light  on  our 
emotions,  his  words  like  sweet  music  make  us  weep  for 
gladness.  Soul  communicates  free  and  unshackled  with 
soul,  we  confess  all  that  is  palpitating  within  us,  and  need 
not  afterwards  blush  that  we  have  let  any  mortal  see  into 
the  secret  place  of  our  hearts.  Books  are  dear  and  safe 
confidants. 

Some  such  want  made  Escott  push  aside  grammar  and 
dictionaries,  and  draw  out  of  the  book-slide  on  one  side 
of  his  writing-table  a  volume  that  had  been  oftcn-times 
consulted,  to  judge  from  the  irregiilar  wavy  line  of  the 
leaves ;  and  then  the  curate  opening  it.  read  a  page  here 
and  there,  until  like  the  bee  finding  at  last  the  sought  for 
honeysuckle,  he  settled  down  firmly  to  gather  the  aliment 
he  required. 

No  use  to  name  the  book ;  different  diet  suits  diiferent 
spirits.'  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  was  one  of  those  works 
which  paint  in  vivid  colours,  the  startling  combination  of 
good  and  evil  in  our  natures  ;  the  work  of  a  healthy  writer, 
who  dwelt  still  auore  on  the  good  that  is  in  all  men.  weak 
or  wicked  though  they  "may  be,  than  on  the  evil  which 
lurks  even  in  the  best  and  strongest  among  us.  Yet, 
while  Escott's  attention  was  chained  to  the  pages  he  was 
reading,  the  dramatis  pcrs(uue  of  the  day's  drama  were 
passing  to  and  fro  in  his  mind. 

Charity  Wood— her  coarse  yet  not  hardened  mother 
— George  Brown  so  strangely  excited  by  the  visit  to  the 
fading  girl.  Yes,  there  was  good  in  tlicm  all.  to  be 
cherished  and  Itrought  to  mat\u-ity.  Escott,  in  his 
dreams,  carried  on  his  last  train  of  thought ;  he  dreamed 
that  he  saw  (jeorge  falling  over  the  rough  bank  which 
overhangs  the  sunk  road  to  Bowick,  and  woke  in  his 
cllbrt  to  save  him. 


WHY  ?  91 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHY  ? 

WE  no  sooner  have  the  conviction  that  we  are  appre- 
ciated, or  admired  by  any  one,  than  we  suddenly 
be{?in  to  judge  the  discriminating  individual  by  a  different 
code  from  that  we  had  been  hitherto  using.  The  man 
who  can  resist  the  effect  produced  by  the  knowledge  of 
having  inspired  a  disinterested  affection  must  be  below 
the  rest  of  his  species.  There  is  something  within  us 
which,  from  the  moment  we  arc  born,  seeks  for  love; 
and  that  something  increases  its  desires  and  demands 
with  almost  every  year  of  our  existence.  It  is  when 
this  craving  is  unsatisfied  that  some  are  driven  into  isola- 
tion, others  into  becoming  bitter-tongued  against  man- 
kind, haters  of  the  sight  of  happiness,  holding  all  the 
love  and  friendship  they  see  displayed,  as  hypocrisies. 
The  deepest  grief  that  can  befal  us  is,  to  be  without  con- 
fidence in  the  love  of  any  other  fellow-creature  ;  to  feel 
one's  own  heart  full  to  overflowing  with  deep  love,  and 
to  keep  it  pent  up,  in  doubt  of  its  being  anywhere 
acceptable. 

Escott,  recalling  the  expression  of  George  Brown's 
eyes,  as  they  had  dwelt  on  himself  after  the  visit  to 
Charity  Wood,  remembering  also  the  boy's  anxiety  lest 
he  had  incurred  his  anger,  and  the  ensuing  burst  of 
despair,  felt  a  new-born  inclination,  not  to  check  or  warn, 
but  to  be  kind  to  the  wilful  lad.  Instead  of  avoiding  the 
Hatch  as  he  had  done  chiefly  from  a  distate  to  George, 
he  now  frequently  called  on  Mrs.  Brown,  and  principally 
with  a  view  to  meeting  her  son.  The  curate  was  further 
propitiated  by  George's  fullihncnt  of  his  promise  not  to 
seek  the  society  of  the  girls  on  the  common.  It  became 
almost  a  daily  habit  for  George  to  accompany  Escott 
either  on  his  parochial  visiting,  or  in  his  longer  botanizing 
walks;  and  either  George  improved,  or  Escott  grew 
accustomed  to  his  ways,  for  he  no  longer  felt  the  boy's 
companionship  irksome.  Escott  said  at  the  rectory  that 
he  had  great  hopes  of  making  a  convert  of  George,  of 


92  SKIRMISHING. 

overcoming  the  bad  influences  of  his  childhood ;  he  pro- 
tested, that,  though  there  still  was  more  eccentricity  of 
manner  and  speech  than  could  be  excused,  George  was 
now  invariably  respectful  towards  him,  nay,  rather  over- 
doing his  respect.  But  if  the  curate  and  George  were 
progressing  towards  intimacy,  it  was  not  certainly 
through  any  favouring  assistance  from  Mrs.  Brown. 
Escott  was  never  invited  to  the  Hatch,  never  had  been 
asked  to  stay  to  dinner,  even  though  he  might  have  been 
there  on  the  stroke  of  five.  He  could  not  understand  or 
account  for  this  increase  of  Mrs.  Brown's  reserve,  except 
that  she  disapproved  of  the  religious  training  he  was 
giving  George. 

One  day,  it  so  happened  that  George  was  out  of  the 
way,  when  Escott  called ;  and  in  the  course  of  conver- 
sation he  spoke  candidly  to  Mrs.  Brown  of  his  growing 
interest  in  George  and  of  his  wish  to  be  of  some  use  to 
him. 

"The  more  I  see  of  him,"  said  Escott,  "the  more  I 
wonder  at  my  not  having  sooner  done  him  justice  ;  there 
is  a  curious  mixture  in  him  of  impetuosity  and  gentle- 
ness, and  a  flow  of  generous  delicate  naive  sentiments 
not  common  in  a  boy,  and  very  attaching.  Probably 
this  is  owing  to  his  having  been  always  with  you  and 
thus  not  having  had  the  first  bloom  of  his  lieart  rubbed 
off"  by  contact  with  other  lads.  It  is  pleasing,  yet,  after 
all,"  he  wound  up,  "  it  would  not  answer  in  the  long 
run,  for  sons  to  be  brought  up  by  their  mothers,  even 
if  all  mothers  could  produce  the  same  result  as  you  have 
done." 

Neither  the  praise  of  her  son  or  herself  seemed  at  all 
palatable  to  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  "  in  making  excuses  for 
poor  George's  deficiencies ;  he  is,  however,  very  unfortu- 
nate in  a  way  not  necessary  to  ex])lain.  Believe  me,  I 
am  not  ungrateful  for  your  kind  intentions,  but  you  are 

too  young 1  mean,  I  am  sure  you  will  allow  that,  as 

a  mother,  1  must  be  best  al)le  to  decide  what  is  good  for 
my  child."  Mrs.  I?rown  liad  grown  very  pale  wliiU^  she 
said  tliis.  "  Indeed,  Mr.  Escott,"  she  went  on,  "  I  should 
be  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  not  send  him  any  more 
books — if  you  would  not  have  liini  so  niueh  with  you." 


WHY  ?  93 

These  ■words  were  pronounced  with  that  accent  of  will, 
which  marks  a  resolution  long  time  fought  against,  but 
decisive  when  once  it  has  been  taken.  Mrs.  Brown's 
complexion  was  raised,  her  breathing  short,  and  all  her 
body  agitated  by  a  nervous  contraction.  The  light  was 
full  on  her  face,  and  Escott,  in  his  surprise  at  this  unex- 
pected speech,  suddenly  looked  at  her,  and  for  the  first 
time  perceived  small  lines  round  her  eyes,  and  at  the 
corners  of  her  mouth,  undeniable  witnesses  of  long 
wearying  care.  Mrs.  Brown  Avas  old  enough  to  be 
George's  mother,  without  cause  for  astouisiiment ;  she 
was  less  an  object  for  admiration,  but  much  more  touch- 
ing to  a  man  of  feeling.  Hitherto,  he  had  thought  her 
too  cold — too  passive,  too  indifferent  to  George,  too  care- 
less as  to  liis  conduct.  He  guessed  now  that  what  he 
had  taken  for  coldness  was  more  probably  the  lassitude 
and  hopelessness  of  a  long  conflict  with  some  trial ;  and 
if  so,  what  strength  of  mind  must  she  not  have,  to  bear 
up  as  she  did,  without,  as  far  as  he  knew,  friendly  sup- 
port, or  sympathy  from  any  mortal,  unless  it  were  from 
her  old  German  servant;  he  had  a  mental  consciousness 
that  George  was  no  resource  to  her.  That  delicate  woman 
had  surely  the  soul  of  a  stoic ;  never  a  complaint,  or 
murmur,  or  sarcasm  against  the  world,  nor  self-pity,  as  is 
too  often  the  wont  of  persons  arrived  at  maturity.  He 
forgave  whatever  of  offence  might  be  conveyed  in  her 
words  to  himself,  in  admiration  of  this  power  of  endu- 
rance. 

All  these  arguments  dashed  through  his  mind  in  the 
two  minutes  of  pause  before  he  replied  to  her  plainly  ex- 
pressed desire,  that  he  should  leave  George  alone. 

"  I  shall  of  course  comply  with  your  wishes  so  far  as 
not  to  seek  George ;  only  I  could  not  throw  back  my 
little  friend,  nor  would  you  exact  it  from  me,  if  he  applies 
to  me  for  explanation  or  information  on  a  subject  he  be- 
gins to  feel  one  of  vital  importance." 

"  You  may  give  him  a  great  deal,  but  you  have  robbed 
him  of  the  peace  of  childhood."  Mrs.  Brown  drew  a 
deep  sigh ;  there  was  a  vibration  of  anger  in  her  voice. 
Escott  was  about  to  speak ;  she  stopped  him,  saying 
hastily,  "  we  will  drop  the  subject  if  you  please." 

George  came  into  the  room  at  the  moment.    His  eyes 


94  SKIRMISHING. 

brightened  as  they  always  did  at  the  sight  of  Escott.  He 
went  np  to  the  curate  and  shook  hands  with  him,  saying, 

"  Look  out  of  the  window  and  you'll  see  Eben  White 
riding  by  with  Jemima  on  a  pillion  behind  him." 

"  What  is  that  for  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  Oh  !  he's  determined  to  parade  that  way  all  through 
the  parish  to  let  every  one  know  that  they  are  really 
going  to  be  married." 

'•  What  folly,"  exclaimed  Escott,  as  the  betrothed  pair 
passed,  seated  on  a  tall  chestnut  horse,  which  had  white 
bows  on  each  side  of  its  headstall.  The  bridegroom  elect 
wore  a  bunch  of  white  ribbons  in  his  button-hole ;  Jemi- 
ma, with  her  arm  round  his  waist,  scarlet  from  fear  and 
excitement,  looked  like  a  full-blown  peony.  "  After  all 
the  gossip  there  has  been  about  them,"  observed  Escott, 
"  if  they  had  had  a  grain  of  sense  between  them,  they 
would  have  managed  their  marriage  as  quietly  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  You  don't  understand,  Mr.  Escott,"  said  George. 
"Eben  says  he  wants  to  show  every  body  that  he  is 
proud  of  Jemima;  it's  noble  of  him  I  tliink ;  old  Miss 
Earl  told  me  of  what  he  was  going  to  do,  for  I  assure 
you," — looking  at  Escott  while  the  colour  mounted  to 
his  very  hair,  "  I  have  not  spoken  to  Jemima  for  weeks." 

"  I  should  not  have  blamed  you,  if  you  liad,"  replied 
Escott,  smiling  at  George's  earnestness.  "You  took  me 
too  literally." 

"Yes,  I  am  always  cither  too  much  one  way  or  the 
other,"  sighed  George. 

As  Escott  did  not  answer  as  he  usually  did  by  some 
advice  or  argument,  George  looked  at  him  and  at  once 
discovered  that  something  was  wrong  tlirough  that  un- 
known power  wliich  makes  us  instantly  awaro  without 
any  process  of  reasoning,  of  the  state  of  mind  of  those  we 
know  well.  George's  eyes  left  Kscott's  face  and  sought 
that  of  Mrs.  ]5rown,  she  had  turned  away. 

Escott  availed  himself  of  the  ])ause  and  made  use  of 
that  awkward  formula  of  leave-taking, 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going." 

George  went  with  him  to  the  door. 

"I  have  finished  the  little  l)Ook  you  lent  me,  Mr.  Es- 
cott.    I  like  it  very  much  ;  will  you  lend  me  another  ?" 


WHY  ?  95 

"  You  go  too  fust,"  said  Escott ;  "  suppose  you  take  a 
little  time  to  think  over  what  you  have  read,  before  you 
begin  any  thing  new." 

"If  you  advise  me  to  do  so.  Are  you  going  to  take 
another  long  walk  soon  ?" 

"  Not  immediately." 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  stayed  now.  I  wanted  to  play 
you  Chopin's  '  Marche  Fuuebre ;'  there  is  a  page  that  is 
wonderful — it  seems  as  if  the  notes  actually  said,  '  Oh ! 
how  I  regret  that  we  shall  never  meet  again ;'  it  is  not 
fancy — couldn't  you  come  some  evening  when  all  the 
Greatorexes  are  gone  out  to  dinner  ?" 

"  Shouldn't  you  like  Miss  Greatorcx  to  hear  it  also ; 
she  is  sucli  an  admirer  of  your  playing." 

"I  can't  play  when  people  come  to  admire  me;  never 
mind,  it's  of  no  consequence,  good-day;"  and  George 
returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

Escott  walked  away  from  the  Hatch  with  mixed  feel- 
ings, the  predominant  one,  dissatisfaction,  alike  with 
himself  as  with  the  Browns.  Once  again  the  old  sus- 
picion of  something  wrong  rose  in  his  mind  and  would 
not  be  banished.  He  concluded  his  reflections  thus,  "  I 
have  no  right  to  interfere  between  mother  and  son,  unless 
the  son  applies  to  me  in  my  character  of  minister  of  the 
gospel.  1  am  sorry  for  him,  he  will  miss  me  I  know.  I 
see  I  have  been  very  imprudent,  and  I  have  just  got 
what  I  deserved." 

Escott  was  a  little  grieved  and  very  much  provoked 
and  mortified ;  he  was  vexed  with  that  vexation  we  all 
have,  when  we  suspect  we  have  made  fools  of  ourselves, 
that  is,  thrown  away  our  kindness.  As  if  any  good  act 
was  ever  entirely  thro\vn  away.  "  Do  good,  without 
thinking  of  to  whom — whoever  in  the  darkness  lighteth 
another  with  a  lamp,  lighteth  himself  also  ;  and  the  light 
is  not  part  of  ourselves,  it  is  put  into  our  hands  by  Him 
who  hath  appointed  the  suns  their  courses." 

George  did  not  trouble  Mr.  Escott  further  in  any  way 
except  one,  and  that  was  by  entirely  giving  up  his  lately 
regular  attendance  at  church. 

"  The  seed  has  fallen  on  stony  ground,"  said  the  curate 
to  Maud.     "  I  had  hoped  otherwise,  poor  boy." 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  he  is  more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed," 
replied  Maud 


96  SKIRMISHING. 

"I  believe,"  continued  Escott,  "that  it  is  the  sense  of 
his  unfitness  by  nature  to  guide  himself  aright,  Avhich 
interests  me ;  the  same  sort  of  interest  with  which  one 
might  watch  a  bad  swimmer  on  a  rough  sea  striving  to 
reach  the  shore." 

"  Yes,  certainly,  one  can't  help  being  sorry  for  him," 
said  Maud,  but  she  did  not  speak  as  one  who  cared  to 
pursue  the  subject. 

Gradually,  something  like  a  damp  sheet  was  spread 
over  the  intercourse  between  the  rectory  and  the  Hatch. 
Whether  owing  to  an  increase  of  reserve  on  Mrs.  Brown'!' 
side,  or  to  a  diminishing  of  good  will  in  the  Greatorexes, 
the  fact  of  the  two  families  seldom  meeting  was  j  titent 
— though  for  some  remissness  in  visiting.  Maud  and  her 
mother  had  the  plausible  excuse  of  the  approaching 
school  examination. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  wag*the  only  one  belonging  to  the 
rectory  who  continued  to  call  at  the  Hatch  as  frequently 
as  before;  perhaps,  indeed,  she  even  went  there  now 
oftener.  From  the  first,  JNIrs.  Lescrimifero  had  taken  up 
the  defence  of  Mrs.  BrOwn,  and  being  of  a  disposition 
which  led  her  always  to  side  with  the  weakest,  the 
moment  the  old  lady  saw  or  fancied  she  saw  any  waning 
of  attention  from  lior  daughter  to  Mrs.  Brown,  .she  got 
up  a  ])rivate  opposition  in  lier  own  person.  She  petted 
Mrs.  Brown  as  an  elder  woman  can  pet  a  younger ;  went 
to  sit  with  lier  on  those  dark  November  days  when 
solitude  is  least  desirable,  knitted  slippers  for  her,  and 
muffctecs  lor  George,  sent  up  a  folding  scroou  belonging 
to  herself,  which  the  badly  fitting  doors  of  the  Hatch 
made  a  necessary  article  of  furniture,  gave  motherly 
advice  about  Mrs.  Brown's  healtli.  and   (ioorge's  cough. 

Had  iMrs.  Les(;rinii^re  been  another  kind  of  woman 
than  what  she  was,  she  would  perliaps  have  been  chilled 
by  Mrs.  IJrown's  perfectly  polite  reserve,  never  for  one 
instant  abandoned  ;  no,  notwithstanding  the  old  lady's 
warm-licartcd  attentions  and  actual  services,  never  did 
Mrs.  Jh'own  have  one  quarter  of  an  hour  of  laisscr  allvr. 
As  for  George,  the  first  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Lescrimiferc  was 
the  signal  for  his  retreat. 

"It  is  sorrow,  not  hardness  of  heart,"  was  Mrs.  Les- 
crimibrc's  explanation  for  this  conduct,  she  was  not  at 


DANGER    FLAG.  9-7 

all  given  to  perceive  slights  to  herself.  "  That  woman," 
she  said  in  her  thoughts,  "  is  the  victim  of  some  wretch 
of  a  man,  I'll  swear;  better  not  say  so,  however,  or  I 
shall  frighten  all  the  proprieties  of  the  neighbourhood 
into  fits.  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  has  made  my 
daughter  so  suddenly  cool  to  the  poor  creature,  and  even 
little  Maud  looks  ill-used  if  I  so  much  as  name  Mrs. 
Brown." 

Matters  were  in  this  state  when  Miss  Cox,  the  parish 
schoolmistress,  went  one  morning  to  the  Hatch. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


DANGER  FLAG. 


MISS  COX,  the  schoolmistress  of  Eden,  had  had  a 
continual  headache  for  the  three  last  weeks,  pro- 
duced, partly  by  the  stupidity  of  the  children  which 
increased,  as  the  interval  before  the  examination  de- 
creased, and,  partly,  by  the  anxiety  whether  Mr.  Broad- 
wood,  the  Government  inspector,  whom  she  had  known 
when  she  was  herself  under  training,  would  remember 
her,  and  stand  her  friend  on  this  occasion.  The  stake  to 
her,  was  nine  pounds  a  year  additional  salary,  or  nothing. 
Surely  he  might  have  learned  by  this  time  what  country 
children  were,  how  certain  in  the  flurry  of  seeing  a 
stranger  to  forget  everything  they  knew  best;  if  they 
could  not  recollect  their  o\\ti  names  in  such  circum- 
stances, how  was  it  possible  to  expect  them  to  recol- 
lect the  names  of  rivers  and  countries  they  had  never 
beheld  ? 

This  argument  was  potent  and  conclusive  with  poor 
Miss  Cox;  but  how  would  it  fare  with  Mr.  Government 
Inspector  ?  Facts  are  stubborn  witnesses  against  special 
pleading ;  she  acknowledged  this,  and  fretted  night  and 
day.  "When  we  are  slipping  down  a  precipice  we  catch 
at  any  twig ;  it  nnist  have  been  some  sensation  akiu  to 
falling  or  drowning  that  sent  Miss  Cox  in  her  demi-dis- 
traction  to  the  Hatch  to  ask  Mrs.  Brown  to  be  present 
dt  the  impending  school  examination. 


98  SiaRMISHING. 

Mrs.  Brown  received  her  visitor  whom  she  could  not 
recall  ever  having  seen  before,  with  her  usual  polite 
reserve. 

Miss  Cox  was  of  course  perfectly  acquainted  with  all 
that  the  village  had  conjectured  about  Mrs.  Brown,  and 
now  brought  face  to  face  with  that  lady,  she  sat  for  a 
while  absorbed  in  speculations  as  to  her  age  and  social 
position  much  as  Mrs.  Greatorex  had  done  some  months 
ago.  The  schoolmistress  was  reminded  of  her  own  afifairs 
by  Mrs.  Brown  saying : 

•'  In  what  way  can  I  be  of  use  to  you.  Miss  Cox  ?" 

Miss  Cox,  who  had,  it  must  be  owned,  indulged  a  little 
in  the  idea  that  she  and  Mrs.  Brown  might  not  be  con- 
sidered as  too  widely  sundered  by  rank  and  fortune  to 
become  associates,  on  being  thus  addressed,  gentle  and 
civil  as  was  the  tone  in  which  the  words  were  spoken,  felt 
that  there  was  a  strongly-traced  line  between  her  and  the 
perpon  speaking.  Subsiding  without  effort  into  the  rank 
of  life  in  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  place  her,  Miss  Cox 
burst  forth  : 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Brown ;  if  you  would  be  so  good, 
you  and  Mr.  George,  as  to  come  down  to  the  school 
to-morrow,  while  Mr.  Broadwood  is  there,  you  would 
greatly  oblige  me,  indeed  you  would,  Mrs.  Brown." 

Miss  Cox  would  have  thought  she  demeaned  herself  by 
using  the  word  "  ma'am." 

•'  1  should  be  glad  to  do  anything  to  oblige  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Brown  ;  '•  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  of  what 
service  we  could  be  to  you  in  this  instance." 
*  "  Oh  !  you  can't  believe,  Mrs.  Brown,  what  the  stu- 
pidity of  those  children  is.  There  are  those  twins,  the 
Dackses  I  mean,  no  driving  any  one  single  thing  into 
their  heads,  and  I  should  like  to  have  friends  to  stand  by 
me  in  such  a  moment;  it  will  be  nine  pounds  or  nothing, 
Mrs.  Brown,  and  they  don't  care  a  bit  for  all  the  trouble 
and  vexation  and  worry  they  give.  I  am  not  afraid  of 
the  writing  or  the  boys'  sums.     I  do  hope  you  ^\ill  come, 

Mrs.   Brown ;    and   i'f  Mr   George '."     Miss  Cox 

stopped  for  breath. 

"  As  you  wish  it  so  much,"  began  Mrs.  Brown. 

"Oh!  dear,  ye.<!,  it's  a  moral  support  1  want.  Mrs. 
Brown,  and  I  am  so  shut  up,  and  shut  out  from  all  com- 


DANGER    FLAG.  99 

panionsliip,  it's  so  very  lonely,  and  my  window  looking 
out  on  the  churchyard,  sometimes  I  fancy  I  sliall  forget 
how  to  talk  except  on  school  matters.  It's  a  sad  depri- 
vation, I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Brown.  I  had  hoped,"  she 
went  on,  "  to  hear  Mr.  George  play,  '  music  is  such  a 
boon.' " 

"  George  is  not  at  home,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Brown,  may  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to 
call  again  some  other  day.  We  never  see  Mr.  George 
now  at  Coldblows,  he  is  such  a  loss." 

"  The  weather  is  against  long  walks,"  said  Mrs.  Brown, 
and  then  at  last  Miss  Cox  took  her  leave,  after  again 
beseeching  Mrs.  Brown  to  give  her  the  moral  support  of 
her  presence  the  following  forenoon. 

As  wo  constantly  discover  when  we  have  put  ourselves 
extremely  out  of  our  way  in  acceding  to  a  request  like 
that  of  Miss  Cox,  Mrs,  Brown  found  out  too  late  that  she 
might  very  well  have  remained  quietly  at  the  Hatch, 
without  Miss  Cox  being  aware  of  her  absence.  When 
Mrs.  Brown  entered  the  school-room,  that  young  woman 
with  her  cheeks  a  bright  scarlet,  was  insensible  to  any 
presence  save  that  of  Mr.  Broadwood,  and  the  three  rows 
of  children  before  whom  he  was  standing. 

Mr.  Broadwood  was  a  tall  man,  of  middle-aged  English 
appearance ;  a  little  jerk  upwards  of  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  a  twinkle  in  the  eye,  betraying  a  love  of 
humour.  The  children  were  in  front  of  him,  and  great 
maps  of  England,  France,  and  America  behind  him. 
Near  the  stove  were  grouped  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greatorex, 
and  Escott.  Maud  was  at  the  end  of  the  room  opposite 
to  the  window,  trying  to  control  a  set  of  little  ones  of 
ages  varying  from  three  to  five.  Nothing  but  a  severe 
glance  from  Mrs.  Greatorex  could  subdue  one  large-eyed 
obstreperous  fellow  in  petticoats. 

Mr.  Greatorex  found  Mrs.  Brown  a  chair  next  to  his 
wife,  and  then  she  heard  Mr.  Broadwood  saying, 

"  Well !  what  is  Lincoln  famous  for  besides  ?"  Dead 
silence.  "Come,  thmk ;  what  is  your  favourite  bird,  1 
mean  for  eating  ?"  A  subdued  titter.  •'  You,"  address- 
ing himself  pointedly  to  a  bright-looking  girl  with  black 
eyes.  "What's  her  name?"  in  an  aside  to  Miss  Cox. 
"  Maryanne  Nunn,  what's  your  favourite  bird  ?" 


1 00  SKIRMISHING. 

"  Poll  parrot,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  You  don't  eat  poll  parrots,  do  you  ?  And  yoii  ?"  to 
her  neighbour. 

"  Parrot,  sir,"  very  solemnly  said. 

"  And  you,  and  you  ?"  went  on  Mr.  Inspector.  "  "What, 
always  the  same  answer  ?" 

A  little  urchin  of  seven  here  squeaked  out,  ''  Please, 
sir,  a  canary." 

"  A  tomtit,"  whispered  another. 

"We  have  got  all  astray,"  sighed  Mr.  Broadwood. 

Miss  Cox's  colour  deepened,  brighten  it  could  not. 

"  Why,  what  do  some  of  you,  at  least,  cat  at  Michael- 
mas ?" 

"  A  goose  !"  came  in  chorus  from  the  ranks. 

"Ah!  at  last  we  have  it.  Then  remember  Lincoln  is 
famous  for  goose  feathers.     Very  good." 

Indeed  Miss  Cox's  prophecy  was  fully  verified  in  the 
crowning  display  when  questions  from  tlie  Bible  were  put. 
It  was  enough  to  provoke  a  saint,  and  it  did  provoke 
sweet  Maud  almost  into  a  passion.  Mr.  Broadwood 
courteously  invited  Mr.  Grcatorex  or  Escott  to  take  this 
part  of  the  examination  on  themselves. 

'•Yoii  are  more  conversant  with  the  subject-matter 
than  I  am.    I  am  afraid  of  making  Vmt  a  bad  catechiser." 

The  parson  and  the  curate  wer(>  so  sure  of  their 
scholars,  that  they  begged  Mr.  Broadwood  to  go  on. 

Not  one  cliild  appeared  ever  to  have  hoard  of  the  Good 
Samaritan.     In  vain  the  Inspector  promj)liMl  them. 

"  You,  know,  children,  that  travellers  often  meet  with 
mishaps  ;  now  what  chanced  to  a  certain  man  wlio  was 
going  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho  ?" 

After  a  long  silence  one  of  the  twins  so  dreaded  ))y 
Miss  Cox,  stirred  by  the  associations  of  ideas  connected 
with  Jericho,  declared  tliat  the  man  l)lew  a  trumpet." 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  said  ISfr.  Broadwood,  "  you  arc 
lliinking  of  another  event.  This  poor  traveller  fell  in 
with  thieves,  and  11ii>n  lie  met,  who?  A  long  unbroken 
pause — you  might  have  heard  a  pin  dro]).  (ireal  l»eads 
of  moi.sturc  stood  on  Miss  Cox's  aching  brows.  "  A  Le- 
vitc,"  ])romi)ted  Mr.  l?roadwood,  "a  sort  of  clergyman." 

"A  riiarisee,"  suggcslcd  a  boy. 

Mr.  Broadwood  was  deaf.     "And  what  did  lie  meet 


DANGER    FLAG.  101 

next  ?"  Then  afraid  of  bis  own  question,  he  added,  "  I 
mean  what  sort  of  good  man  ?" 

"  His  neighbour,"  said  a  voice,  timidly. 

"  Very  good,  very  good,  a  Samaritan  who  proved  the 
neighbour  to  hira  who  fell  among  thieves." 

It  was  not  only  Miss  Cox  who  had  red  cheeks  by  this 
time. 

"  Who  could  imagine  that  those  good-for-nothing  chil- 
dren know  the  parables  by  heart?"  whispered  Mrs. 
Greatorex  to  Mrs.  Brown.  Maud  could  have  beaten 
them  all  round,  her  particular  class  to  have  so  disgraced 
itself.  We  will  not  inquire  into  what  Escott  would  wil- 
lingly have  awarded  the  delinquents. 

The  sums  fortunately  went  off  satisfactorily,  and  the 
writing  was  deservedly  praised.  Mr.  Broadwood  under- 
stood the  case ;  he  complimented  poor  Miss  Cox  (who 
now  scarcely  knew  whether  she  had  a  head  or  not),  and 
waggishly  reproached  the  clergymen  for  having  set  him 
to  do  that,  which  was  to  show  the  children  how  easily 
an  inspector  might  be  puzzled. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  have  your  certificate,"  said  Maud, 
soothingly,  to  the  schoolmistress,  "  as  soon  as  it  is  all 
over,  do  go  and  lie  down  for  an  hour  or  two.  Horrid 
little  creatures  !  they  have  given  me  a  headache  also." 

Mrs.  Brown's  appearance  in  the  schoolroom  had  occa- 
sioned a  shock  of  surprise  to  the  rectory  party.  How 
extraordinary !  and  she,  always  so  disinclined  to  meeting 
strangers !  Miss  Cox  had  never  mentioned  her  visit  to 
the  Hatch ;  indeed,  after  she  had  begged  Mrs.  Brown  to 
come,  she  began  to  be  afraid  that  Mrs.  Greatorex  might 
be  displeased  with  her  for  having  made  the  request,  and 
therefore  not  only  did  Miss  Cox  not  mention  the  proba- 
bility of  Mrs.  Brown's  appearing,  but  by  providing  only 
five  chairs,  three  for  the  rectory,  one  for  the  curate,  and 
one  for  the  inspector,  threw  off  all  suspicions  from  her- 
self of  expecting  a  sixth  visitor. 

Rectors'  ladies  have  generally  some  fault  to  find  with 
the  schoolmistresses:  "An  excellent  girl,"  they  say, 
"  but  I  do  wish  she  managed  the  children  better."  The 
schoolmistress  either  overdrives,  or  does  not  drive  enough ; 
and  she  in  her  turn,  acknowledges  the  rector's  lady  or 
daughter,  as  it  may  be,  to  be  very  good  and  kind,  but  too 


102  SKIRMISHING. 

interfering,  and  always  patronizing  tlie  wrong  pupils. 
The  schoolmistress  knows  by  intuition  who  the  rectory 
prefers,  and  those  are  the  persons  she  least  likes.  Miss 
Cox  was  aware  that  Mrs.  Greatorex  and  Miss  Maud  were 
not  so  "  taken  up  "  with  Mrs.  Brown  as  they  had  been, 
and  she  therefore  was  inclined  "  to  take  up  "  Mrs.  Brown  ; 
but  on  second  thoughts,  self-interest  conquered,  and  Miss 
Cox  would  rather  not  make  visible  her  partisanship.  So 
she  left  it  to  chance  to  reveal  why  Mrs.  Brown  came  to 
the  schoolhouse  that  particular  day,  when  she  had  never 
done  so  before. 

"That  power  which  erring  men  call  chance,"  had 
surely  inspired  Miss  Cox  to  persuade  Mrs.  Brown  to 
come  to  the  examination.  It  was  the  last  of  that  poor 
lady's  quiet  days  at  the  Hatch. 

Mr.  Broadwood  was  to  take  an  early  dinner  or  lunch 
at  the  rectory  ;  and  the  rector  whispered  to  his  wife  to 
ask  Mrs.  Brown  to  stop  and  jjartake  of  the  meal.  The 
same  nnkown  power  worked  on  Mrs.  Brown  to  believe 
that  it  would  be  churlish  in  her  to  refuse,  though  it  really 
went  sorely  against  her  inclination  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion. There  is  truly  a  fate  that  overlays  our  purposes. 
An  Alp  does  not  arrest  the  conqueror's  career,  but  a 
molehill  does  So  is  it  with  our  precautionary  measures  ; 
it  is  the  neglect  of  some  trifle,  which  baffles  all  our  pre- 
vious momentous  successful  eflbrts. 

The  ladies  took  off  their  l)onuets  before  sitting  down  to 
table.  Now,  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  even  wearied, 
spectacled,  elderly  inspectors  of  schools,  like,  as  well  as 
younger,  idler  men,  to  look  at  sweet  faces,  and  our  pre- 
sent inspector,  all  unfit  to  be  admired  himself,  was  the 
readier  to  admire,  llis  eye  travelled  from  the  still 
charming-looi<ing  Mrs.  Lcscrimifcrc  to  her  handsome 
daughter,  his  hostess;  lingered  and  softened  as  it  dwelt 
on  young,  blooming,  loveable  Maud,  and  finally  fixed 
itself  with  a  sort  of  amazed  delight  on  Mrs.  J5rown. 
Such  a  face  as  that  is  not  met  with  every  day. 

The  heat  of  the  schoolroom  and  the  contention  of  lier 
mind  had  brought  into  Mrs.  Brown's  checks,  the  most 
delicate  rose-colour,  making  more  striking  the  clear  soft 
white  of  tlie  rest  of  tlie  face.  Mr.  Inspector  had  rarely, 
if  ever,  seen  such  a  perfectly  shaped  head,  such  hair, 


DANGER    FLAG.  103 

such  eyes,  such  a  throat !  Yet  even  while  he  was  think- 
ing thus,  he  recollected  having  beheld  something  like  it 
all,  and  not  long  ago.  Yes,  this  beauty  resembled  some 
one  he  had  very  lately  seen.  Who  could  it  have  been  ! 
Where  could  it  have  been  ?  The  more  he  gazed,  the 
more  certain  he  became  that  he  had  come  across  a  similar 
countenance  within  the  last  month.  And  yet  he  could 
not  recall  having  been  so  vividly  struck,  as  he  was  at  the 
present  moment. 

Escott,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  to  Mrs. 
Brown,  iii([uired  after  George.  Mrs.  Brown  answered 
with  a  blurih  she  could  have  spared,  that  George  was 
well,  but  not  inclined  to  accept  of  Miss  Cox's  invitation 
to  attend  the  school  examination. 

Mrs.  Grcatorex  looked  at  Mr.  Greatorex  and  Maud,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Ah  !  now  we  know  how  it  was  !" 

''  I  do  not  think  your  son  is  looking  well,"  observed 
Mrs.  Lcscrimitjrc  ;  "  he  is  thin  and  pale." 

"  He  is  growing,  1  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Browii,  again 
flushing  like  a  girl. 

Then  some  word  led  the  conversation  to  Fetcher  and  to 
his  personation  of  Hamlet. 

"  I  went  pre-determined  to  find  fault  with  him,"  said 
the  Inspector;  "the  idea  of  a  foreigner  murdering  our 
Shakspeare's  English !  it  was  abominable.  In  the  first 
scenes  I  hated  the  fellow  with  all  my  heart ;  I  resisted  as 
long  as  I  could,  but  before  the  end  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  his  country  or  his  accent.  I  was  engrossed  by 
Hamlet,  Prince  of  Demark — such  princely  urbanity  of 
manner,  such  discrimination,  and  pathos,  manly,  and 
gentlemanly.  Have  you  been  to  see  Fetcher  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Broadwood,  suddenly  addressing  Mrs.  Brown ;  per- 
haps he  had  seen  her  at  the  theatre. 

"  No,  indeed,  and  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  go  to  London 
this  season." 

The  Inspector  went  on,  without  remembering  that  he 
was  speaking  to  Reverends  who  might  disapprove  of  play- 
going.  "  It  is  worth  while,  I  assure  you,  to  go  to  town 
expressly  to  see  him." 

When  the  ladies  had  withdrawn,  "Sir.  Broadwood  asked, 

"  Who  is  your  beautiful  guest  ?'' 

"  I  wish  you  could  tell  us,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex,  srail 


104  SKIRMISHING, 

iiig;  "  we  have  nearly  died  of  curiosity.  She  came  here 
now  some  six  or  seven  months  ago  with  her  son,  a  lad 
of  perhaps  lifteen,  a  queer  fish  he  is,  with  quite  a  genius 
for  music.  They  have  rented  the  old,  half  dilapidated 
house  at  the  other  end  of  the  village,  which  you  must 
have  passed  as  you  drove  here.  "We  did  not  mean  to 
have  any  thing  to  say  to  them,  as  the  lady  did  not  at  first 
attend  church  ;  but  in  a  retired  place  like  this,  it  is  difii- 
cult  to  avoid  making  acquaintance  with  a  neighbour,  and 
Mrs.  Lcscrimifere  and  the  children  managed  to  bring 
about  a  sort  of  intimacy  between  us.  A  more  inofieu- 
sive  parishioner  it  would  be  difllcult  to  find,  than  Mrs. 
Brown ;  she  does  good,  also,  and  the  boy  is  improved,  at 
least  is  more  orderly,  I  think,  Escott,  since  you  took  him 
in  hand." 

"  She  is  one  of  the  loveliest  women  I  ever  saw,"  said 
Mr.  Broadwood.  "  I  am  sure,"  he  continued,  "  that  I 
have  seen  her  somewhere  before  to-day;  but  not  for  the 
life  of  me  can  I  tell  where." 

"  She  certainly  has  not  left  the  parish,"  replied  Mr. 
Greatorex,  "  I  may  say,  since  she  came,  unless  for  a  few 
hours  ;  have  you  been  much  at  Z ?" 

"  Never  been  in  these  parts  before  this  month,"  said 
Mr.  Inspector.  "  No,  no  it  was  not  any  where  near 
this." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    SHADOW    OF    LOVE. 


CAN  people  be  in  love,  and  have  their  hearts  free  of 
occasional  distracting  doubts  ? 
Many  there  are  who  assort  that  to  suppose  they  have 
ever  for  one  instant  been  a  jjrcy  to  jealmisy  of  one  they 
love,  woulil  1)0  us  false,  as  to  accuse  them  of  envy,  malice, 
or  any  uiicharitabloness.  Tliese  three  last  teini)tations 
of  the  soul  we  pray  against  as  being  common  to  humanity, 
but  against  jealousy,  tlie  most  maddening  of  all  tlie 
passions,  we  certaiidy  find  no  mention  in  our  general 
Bupplication ;  we  may  therefore  conclude  if  we  choose, 


THE   SHADOW   OF   LOVE.  105 

that  it  is  not  common  to  humanity.  However  that  may 
be,  Uttle  Maud  had  never  had  even  a  twinge  of  it,  when 
this  story  began ;  did  not  know  what  the  sensation  was 
like.  Books  do  not  teach  it,  in  spite  of  all  their  close 
descriptions.  No,  you  must  have  had  at  least  one  jealous 
pang  of  your  own  before  you  can  sympathize  ^ith 
Othello.  It  is  naughty,  mean,  unnatural,  tout  ce  qu'on 
voudra  ;  but  it  is  naughtier,  meaner,  to  excite  it  wilfully 
or  carelessly  :  naughtiest,  meanest,  the  tittle-tattling  or 
innuendo,  which  sows  the  seed  of  distrust,  whose  fruit  is 
jealousy.  It  is  with  this  last  species  of  naughtiness  that 
we  have  at  present  to  do. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale  did  not  read  much,  but  she  talked  much, 
of  her  husband,  her  nephews  and  nieces,  her  adventures 
by  sea  and  land,  her  servants,  her  garden— proper 
feminine  subjects  all  of  them.  They  did  not  however 
complete  the  circle  of  Mrs.  Lonsdale's  interests.  If  she 
did  not  become  absorbed  in  a  new  novel,  she  did  in  the 
romance  of  real  life  as  related  to  her,  by  Porteous  her 
lady's  maid.  From  Porteous  (recommended  by  her  last 
mistress  as  a  perfect  treasure)  she  heard  that  Mr.  Escott 
had  taken  lately  to  going  very  often  to  the  Hatch ;  it  was 
said,  he  was  teaching  Mr.  George  something  or  other, 
and  Mrs.  Lonsdale,  innocently  enough,  it  must  be  owned, 
replied  by  asking  if  Porteous  had  ever  seen  Mrs.  Brown  ? 

Yes.  Porteous  had  seen  the  lady,  when  she  called  at 
Belmont. 

"  A  regular  beauty,  isn't  she  ?"  said  the  mistress. 

"  Well'm,  to  my  ideer,  she  does  this,"  and  Porteous 
made  believe  to  rouge  her  own  cheeks. 

"Nonsense  !  why  should  she  ?  living  in  that  frightful 
old  house  and  not  a  decent  soul  ever  entering  it." 

"  H'm."     Porteous  cleared  her  throat. 

"AVhatisit?  Porteous,  have  you  heard  anything  ? 
Come,  I  know  you  are  dying  to  tell.     What  can  it  be  ?" 

Porteous  was  coy,  very  coy,  and  it  was  only  by  very 
safe  hints,  that  Mrs.  Lonsdale  made  out  that  Porteous 
considered  the  Hatch  not  a  safe  place  for  a  gentleman 
like  Mr.  Escott,  in  the  church,  and  in  his  situation  too 
with  Miss  Greatorex,  to  be  going  to,  day  after  day,  that 
was  all.  Porteous  had  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Escott, 
men  never  was  to  blame  in  such  cases,  and  she  hoped 


106  SKIRMISHING. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale  -wouldn't  use  lier  name  for  she  wasn't  one 
as  made  uiischief.  Porteous  was  so  hoity-toity  in  her 
virtuous  indignation  that  Mrs.  Lonsdale  was  cowed  and 
convinced. 

Mrs.  Lonsdale  was  not  long  in  calling  at  the  rectory, 
and  there,  amid  many  lamentations  as  to  the  require- 
ments now-a-days  of  servants,  their  ingratitude,  their 
never  knowing  when  they  were  well  off,  she  managed  to 
bring  in  what  Porteous  considered  bad  for  Mr.  Escott, 
making  sure  first  that  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  was  not  in  the 
room. 

"  Do  you  still  like  Mrs.  Brown  as  well  as  ever  ?"  she 
began. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so ;  we  don't  see  much  of  her,  for  she 
remains  constant  to  her  hermit's  life,"  said  Mrs.  Greats 
orex. 

"  Ah  !  but  I  hear  she  has  a  father  confessor  to  lighten 
her  solitude.  How  do  you  approve  of  that?"  and  Mrs. 
Lonsdale  turned  to  Maud. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Maud. 

"  Doesn't  Mr.  Escott  tell  you,  then,  of  his  visits  to  the 
natch  ?" 

"  Jle  goes  there  very  seldom,  I  believe,"  said  Maud. 

"  It's  all  rigiit,  I  suppose.  Don't  tell  that  I  have  been 
letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag." 

"  I  don't  see  any  cat,"  said  Mrs.  Grcatorex,  laughing. 

"  Well,  everybody  knows  tlioir  own  business  best,"  said 
Mrs.  Lonsdale,  "  and  1  never  meddle  with  my  neighbour, 
indeed,  it  is  quite  a  point  with  Mr.  Lonsdale  ;  his  motto 
is  '  Live  and  let  live,'  a  very  good  one  1  am  sure.  Next 
time,  Miss  Maud,  you  come  to  Belmont  I'll  show  you  a 
new  stitch;  Mrs.  Sullivan  taught  it  me  tlie  other  day, 
poor  woman,  1  wonder  she  has  time  to  learn  any  thing, 
with  all  that  pack  of  children  to  look  after  ;  they  had  the 
pap  warming  on  the  hoi)  the  last  time  I  called;  neither 
t^henor  the  captain  seemed  thelea«^t  ])ul  out  when  I  went  in ; 
odicers'  wives,  you  know,  have  a  great  deal  to  go  through, 
and  so  liavc  colonists'  ladies,  I  can  tell  you.  1  was  maid-of- 
all-work  for  months.  It's  a  good  thing  Miss  Maud  here 
has  chiiseu  a  man  who  will  be  staiionavy  :ni(l  live  at  ease," 
imd  aftrr  rattling  thus  lor  aiuitlicr  (luarli'r  of  an  hour, 
Mrs.  Liuisdale  drove  away  with  th(^  most  heaveidy  feel- 
ings of  contentment  with  herself  and  all  the  world. 


THE   SHADOW   OP  LOVE.  lOY 

"What  a  chatterbox!"  exclahned  Mrs.  Greatorcx,  as 
Mrs.  Lousdalc  kissed  her  hand,  as  the  carriage  Avhirlcd 
past  the  drawiug'-roora  window.  "What  was  that  she 
was  saying  about  Walter  and  the  Browns  ?" 

Maud  replied, 

"  Some  of  her  usual  gossipping  nonsense ;  but.  mamma,  _ 
it  is  getting  late,  and  you  must  go  and  see  Willie  Junes 
to-day." 

"  I  had  nearly  forgotten  all  about  him,"  said  the  rec- 
tor's lady,  and  went  up  stairs  to  put  on  her  boimet  and 
fill  a  basket  with  medicines  and  wine  for  a  sick  child  at 
the  other  end  of  the  parish. 

Maud,  with  the  extreme  modesty  of  a  young  girl's  love, 
could  not  have  endured  any  discussion  as  to  Escott's 
visits  to  Mrs.  Brown ;  but  imfortunately  Mrs.  Lonsdale's 
silly  hints  gave  substance  to  a  shadowy  grievance  she 
had  had  againt  Escott,  and  exactly  on  account  of  his 
being  so  often  at  the  Hatch. 

It  had  been  no  fancy  of  Mrs.  LcscrimiJjre's  that  her 
daughter  and  grand-daughter  had  grown  cool  to  the 
Browns.  Mrs.  Grcatorex  had  relaxed  in  her  attentions 
to  them,  because  she  had  imbibed  suspicions  that  they 
were  distasteful  to  Maud,  though  she  had  never  succeeded 
in  bringing  the  young  lady  to  say  an  unfavorable  word  of 
mother  or  son. 

Nor  had  Maud  been  more  candid  with  Escott.  He 
always  seemed  so  sure  that  what  he  thought  right  to 
do,  she  must  think  right  should  be  done,  that  she  had 
no  courage  to  speak  her  mind.  Jean  Paul  says  the 
more  weakness,  the  more  lying;  Force  goes  straight; 
any  cannon-ball  with  holes  or  cavities  in  it  goes  crooked. 
If  husbands  and  lovers  wouldn't  frighten  brides  and 
wives  into  cowardly  assentors  there  wouldn't  be  some- 
times such  a  confusion  in  a  woman's  mind  as  to  right  and 
wrong.  How  often  rather  than  rouse  anger  or  be  left  in 
a  huff,  a  woman  pretends  to  approve  where  she  does  not ; 
turns  flatterer,  instead  of  the  friend  who  gives  an  honest 
opinion.  Escott  went  on  his  course  with  an  imdoubting 
confidence  in  Maud's  approbation,  that  would  have  been 
either,  almost  touching,  or  almost  ludicrous,  according  to 
what  might  be  the  character  of  the  looker-on  who  was 
also  aware  of  Maud's  real  feelings.  And  this  was  what 
came  of  his  blindness. 


108  SKIRMISHING. 

Within  a  week  or  two  after  the  school  examination, 
Escott  received,  from  the  college  of  which  he  was  a 
Fellow,  the  offer  of  a  living  in  an  adjoining  county.  The 
parish  was  within  an  easy  distance  of  Eden,  half  a  day's 
journey  by  rail,  a  pretty  parsonage,  situated  pleasantly 
as  to  neighbourhood,  and  with  a  scanty  population  of 
tolerably  well-to-do  parishioners :  the  stipend  a  little 
above  two  hundred. 

Though  young  ladies  may  find  it  hard  of  belief,  a  man 
gifted  with  common  sense  may  be  very  sincerely  in  love, 
and  yet  not  utterly  disregard  all  prudential  considera- 
tions. Escott  must  not,  therefore,  be  condemned  as  cold- 
blooded or  unworthy  of  Maud's  love  because  he  deter- 
mined to  take  a  few  days  for  reflection.  No,  not  even, 
when  having  been  spoiled  by  Maud's  always  being  of  his 
opinion,  be  decided  that  it  was  a  case  of  Avhich  he  would 
himself  be  the  best  judge. 

He  had  a  small  fortune  of  his  own,  but  he  looked  for 
nothing  with  Maud;  a  rector  with  six  children,  four  of 
whom  were  boys  to  be  educated  for  liberal  professions, 
could  not  be  expected  to  give  more  to  his  daughters 
during  his  life-time  than  their  trousseaux.  Escott  had 
chosen  Maud  for  herself  alone,  and  liaving  done  so,  it 
behoved  him  i'or  both  their  sakes,  to  be  more  than  ever 
careful  as  to  other  arrangements  for  their  future  com- 
fort. He  was  liberal-handed  by  nature,  and  he,  more- 
over, considered  it  one  of  the  primary  duties  of  a  clergy^- 
man  to  keep  open  house  for  the  poor.  'J'hut  large  charity 
dispensed  by  monasteries  was  one  of  the  customs  of 
olden  days,  which  he  was  never  tired  of  quoting,  admir- 
ing, recommending,  and  in  as  far  as  his  means  "allowed, 
imitating. 

The  first  day  was  one  of  hesitation.  Did  he  accept 
tills  living,  he  must  either  oblige  Maud  to  live  in  a  man- 
ner, to  wliich  she  had  never  been  accustomed,  or  condemn 
himself  to  exercise  a  scrimp  benevolence.  Besides,  he 
recollected  with  mucli  vividness,  some  jxiwerfiil  descrip- 
tions of  clergymen  with  large  families  ami  small  incomes 
— he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  shudder.  The  second  day, 
he  said  to  himself  that  Maud  Avas  only  nineteen,  and  he 
not  thirty;  they  could  afford  to  wait  a  year  or  two,  the 
better,  that  they  could  sec  each  other  every  day.     1'hc 


THE   SHADOW   OF   LOVE.  109 

third  morninj:^  he  awoke,  thinkino-  that  it  might  after  all 
be  a  foolish  thing  to  refuse,  a  bird  in  the  hand,  &c.,  and 
then  siippose,  instead  of  a  year  or  two,  lie  had  to  wait 
ten  years  for  the  two  birds  in  the  bush.  ]\Iaud  would  be 
thirty,  nearly  n»ddle-aged — and  he,  forty  !  that  would 
never  do.  "While  dressing  he  hummed  to  himself  one  of 
Maud's  favourite  songs — an  old-fashioned  ballad  indeed. 

Dear  Cloe,  while  the  busy  crowd, 
Tlio  vain,  the  wealthy,  aud  the  iiroud, 

lu  folly's  maze  advance  ; 
Thongh  singularity  and  pride 
Be  call'd  our  choice,  we'll  step  aside 

Nor  join  the  giddy  dance. 

From  the  gay  world  we'll  oft  retire 
To  our  own  family  and  fire, 

Where  love  our  hours  employs  ; 
No  noisy  neighbour  enters  here; 
No  intermeddling  stranger  near, 

To  spoil  our  heartfelt  joys. 

Very  pretty  visions  did  these  words  evoke  as  he  strapped 
his  razor,  and  laid  on  a  white  fringe  to  his  dark  chin. 
Home — sweet  home,  a  garden  with  flourishing  Americans, 
superior  to  those  of  all  his  neighbours,  young  and  groio- 
ing  plantations,  with  a  peep  of  his  church  between  them, 
Maud  in  kilted  gown  showing  her  scarlet  petticoat  and 
neat  boots  tripping  over  an  emerald  lawn  to  the  school- 
house.  The  grave  curate  actually  whistled,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  not  a  polka,  and  ran  down-stairs  to  his  breakfast, 
determined  to  accept  the  good  provided  for  him. 

On  the  breakfast  cloth,  close  to  his  solitary  teacup,  lay 
a  letter.  Escott  knew  the  hand— he  first  made  his  tea, 
and  then  broke  the  seal.  His  correspondent  was  also  a 
clergyman  ;  Escott  had  been  at  the  same  college  with 
him ;  it  was  a  sad  letter,  a  chronicle  of  misfortunes,  a 
book  of  lamentations.  The  reverend  writer,  rich  in  noth- 
ing else,  was  rich  in  sons  and  daughters.  Everything 
besides  had  been  and  was  a  failure — even  to  this  autumn's 
apple  harvest.  The  conclusion  was,  "  Could  Escott  lend 
so  much  money  ?" 

Escott's  eyes  lost  their  brightness.  "  Everything  that 
happens  to  us,  is  over-ruled,"  thought  he.  "  1  must  not 
defy  the  warning." 

The  postman  carried  away  two  letters  from  him.     One 

10 


110  SKIRMISHING. 

contaLaing  a  cheque  to  his  heavily  burdened  friend — the 
other  a  polite  and  grateful  refusal  to  the  college  of  the 
offered  benefice.  Escott  was  satisfied  that  he  had  come 
to  a  right  decision,  yet  rather  in  low  spirits,  he  walked  to 
the  rectory  to  make  known  what  he  had  done  with  regard 
to  the  living  ;  as  for  the  other  matter  be  sure  no  one  but 
his  banker  and  the  poor  reverend  would  ever  hear  of 
that. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  WORD  BEFORE,  IS  WORTH  TWO  AFTER. 

ESCOTT  for  a  wonder  found  only  ]\[rs.  Lescrimi^re  and 
Maud  iu  the  rectory  drawing-room.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Greatorex  were  gone  to  pay  distant  visits ;  the  children 
happily  out  walking.  Grandmamma  made  no  excuse  for 
leaving  the  promessi  sposi  alone. 

Escott  gave  Maud  the  letter  to  read  containing  the 
offer  of  the  living.  His  eyes  dwelt  on  her,  not  with  any 
intention  of  reading  her  thoughts,  but  because  she  was 
looking  prettier  than  usual.  Her  dress  became  her,  and 
besides  she  was  thoroughly  tranquil,  knowing  that  there 
would  be  no  noise  or  interruption  to  vex  Escott.  As  she 
read  her  colour  came  and  went  most  becomingly — she 
breathed  fast — and  the  dark,  thick  eyelashes  lay  lower 
and  lower  on  her  cheek,  as  she  returned  tlic  letter. 

"  AVell,  Maud,"  he  began,  and  suddenly  stopped — she 
had  looked  up  at  him  with  bashful  happy  eyes.  Escott 
guessed  immediately,  that  she  had  jumped  to  a  very  rash 
conclusion  ;  and  from  awkwardness  not  unkindness,  said, 
brusquely,  "  Well,  dear,  1  have  refused." 

A  scarlet  flush — so  unlike  the  soft  blush  of  a  moment 
ago — covered  the  whole  of  the  girl's  face — she  felt  quickly 
and  confusedly  as  if  Escott  had  oflVinhMl  her. 

"I  declined,"  went  on  Escott,  witii  increasing  discom- 
fort, "without  first  telling  you,  because  I  knew  that  it 
was  just  a  case  in  which  you  would  not  wish  to  inter- 
fere— or  bias  me.  In  short,  dear  Maud,  I  viewed  the 
matter  in  all  lights  and  decided  that  1  could  not,  in  jus 
ticc  to  either  of  us,  accept  such  an  oiler." 


A   WORD   BEFORE,    IS* WORTH   TWO   AFTER.      Ill 

Maud  had  nothinn^  to  say.     Escott  added  hurriedly, 

"And  so  hajjpily  situated  as  we  are,  seeing  one  another 
daily,  I  thought  we  could  wait  with  patience  a  little  longer, 
for  the  chance  of  something  better." 

"  Wait  with  patience  !"  Why  would  he  not  hold  his 
tongue — why  think  it  incumbent  on  him  to  give  her  rea- 
sons and  explanations ;  as  if  the  most  reasonable  woman 
in  the  world  could  bear  to  have  her  lover  preaching 
"patience  and  waiting"  to  her. 

Maud  knew  she  ought  to  speak,  and  instinct  taught 
her  to  say  with  spirit, 

"  Indeed,  I  think  it  would  have  been  very  wrong  to 
take  it.  Papa  and  mamma  will  be  very  glad  you  did 
not." 

Poor  little  soul,  she  did  not  hide  her  wound  from 
Escott. 

"  You  must  not  misunderstand  me,  Maud,"  he  said, 

more  and  more  disturbed.     "  I  took  time  to  reflect 1 

do  wish "  he  wished  to  say  to  her,  that  he  should  be 

extremely  happy  to  be  married — to  have  her  as  his  dear 
little  wife  in  a  snug  home  of  their  own,  he  wished  to  tell 
her  of  the  strange  coincidence  of  his  friend's  letter  arriv- 
ing like  a  providential  warning  just  as  he  had  resolved  on 
writing  an  acceptance  to  the  college — but  Escott  was  a 
sensitive  man,  and  Maud's  manner  repelled  the  confidence 
on  his  lips. 

"  How  was  it  she  misunderstood  his  motives  ?"  he  asked 
himself  impatiently.  Was  Maud  then  like  the  common 
run  of  women,  who  never  believe  in  a  man's  love,  unless 
he  commits  some  folly  which  compromises  their  hap- 
piness ? 

Escott  had  rightly  divined  Maud's  feelings;  she  argued, 
felt  and  resented  just  as  any  other  inexperienced  girl 
might  do.  "  Eomeo  when  he  loved  Juliet  never  thought 
of  consequence,  did  he  ?" 

Being  uncomfortable  where  he  was,  Escott  got  up  to 
go  away.  It  was  sung  long,  long  ago,  before  we  had  any 
Anno  Domini  to  count  by,  "If  the  man  finds  aught  un- 
pleasing  in  his  house,  abroad  he  seeks  relief,"  and  men's 
feelings  have  not  altered  since  then,  any  more  than  their 
habits  :  so  up  rose  Escott  to  take  his  leave.  lie  retained 
Maud's  hand  in  his,  seeking  her  eyes ;  he  longed  to  make 


112  SKIRMISHING. 

fricuds  ;  he  was  sorry  to  have  hurt  her,  vexed  that  she  was 
hurt.  He  sought  in  vain  for  any  kind  answering  glance, 
and  was  too  prond  to  make  further  advances. 

"  I  may  tell  papa  and  mamma  ?"  she  asked  as  he  turned 
away  disappointed. 

"  Of  course.  I  will  explain  to  Mr.  Greatores  all  my 
reasons  for  acting  as  I  have  done.  God  bless  you,"  he 
added  in  a  low  voice,  a  most  unusual  leave-taking  for 
him. 

Maud  held  out  even  against  the  tenderly  spoken  bles- 
sing. But  no  soouer  did  she  hear  the  front  door  close 
than  she  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  him  back.  She 
was  discontented  with  him,  piqued,  jealous,  still  sir-  onuld 
not  bear  his  absence.  It  was  one  thing  to  fret  him,  and 
he  present ;  for  there  is  indeed  a  sort  of  pungent  pleasure 
in  a  lover's  quarrel,  akin  to  that  given  by  highly  spiced 
and  peppercil  dishes,  which  nevertheless  make  your 
tongue  smart  and  your  eyes  water ;  but  it  was  quite 
another  affair  to  be  left  to  shed  tears  alone,  or  rather  to 
feel  your  heart  bursting  and  not  be  able  to  weep ;  one 
seldom  docs  that  in  solitude.  Claud's  womanly  pride  liad 
had  the  upper  hand  for  a  moment — doubts  and  fears 
quickly  brought  it  low.  But  for  that  last  whispered,  God 
bless  you — she  would  have  been  in  despair.  Suddenly  she 
forgot  her  own  distresses,  to  think  of  what  manuua  would 
say !  Maud  had  very  often  had  to  blind  her  motlier  to 
Escott's  over.sights  or  inadvertencies.  If  ^Irs.  Greatorex 
had  been  so  often  astonished  by  what  had  not  astonished 
^Maud,  what  would  be  the  case  now,  when  even  Maud  was 
surprised  and  hurt.  Surely  something  dreadful  would 
happen,  something  that  could  not  be  undone. 

in  a  panic,  ISlaud  rushed  upstairs  to  dress  for  dinner, 
every  cause  of  complaint  against  Escott  forgotten  in  the 
dread  of  some  insurmountable  barrier  being  raised  be- 
tween them.  She  cho.se  gay  attire,  the  better  to  mislead 
her  mother  as  to  her  feclmgs,  then  down  again  to  the 
drawing-room,  where  seating  herself  at  the  jiiano,  .''he 
began  to  practice  assiduously.  I'apa  and  mamma  would 
never  suspect  anything  was  wrong  with  her,  if  they  found 
her  playing. 

It  all  occurred  as  Maud  had  hoped — the  first  sounds 
the  rector  and  his  wife  heard  on  entering  the  house  were 


A   WORD   BEFORE,    IS   WORTH   TWO   AFTER.      113 


the  cheerful  notes  of  their  eldest  daughter's  music  ;  the 
impression  was  very  agreeable.  Before  taking  off  her 
bonnet  the  mother  put  her  head  into  the  schoolroom, 
and  there  were  tlie  younger  ones  all  well  and  merry  at 
their  tea.  She  laid  down  a  bag  of  buns,  and  ran  away 
from  any  questionings  to  prepare  for  dinner. 

AVhile  the  faithful  Anne,  half  nurse,  lialf  lady's-maid, 
was  fastening  some  matronly  lappets  into  Mrs.  Great- 
orex's  hair,  that  lady  thought,  "  Well !  people  sentimen- 
talize over  the  unhappiness  of  this  world,  I  don't  know 
why,  I  can't  say  I  find  it  so  miserable  a  place — but  I  do 
believe  it  depends  principally  on  oneself.  Conduct  is 
fate" — and  without  a  suspicion  that  she  had  committed 
the  error  of  the  Pharisee,  Mrs.  Greatorex  smiled  at  the 
image  of  the  prosperous  woman  slie  saw  in  her  mirror. 
Yes,  success,  in  anything  or  in  any  way,  is  a  great  puff 
adder — it  poisons  our  charity,  our  khidliness,  paralyzes 
our  judgment. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greatorex  came  into  the  drawing- 
room,  just  before  dinner,  Maud  took  advantage  of  there 
being  no  light  but  that  from  the  fire  to  say, — 

"  Oh !  papa,  Walter  came  here  this  afternoon  to  tell 
us  that  he  had  had  an  offer  of  a  living." 

Mr.  Greatorex  said,  sharply  for  him,  "  What  ?" 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid,  dear  papa,"  and  Maud  put  her 
arm  within  his,  "  there's  no  chance  of  your  getting  rid 
of  me  yet."  She  spoke  cheerfully ;  the  little  candid 
daughter  was  trying  to  deceive  her  parents,  and  thinking 
it  quite  right  to  do  so. 

"He  has  refused  it  then,  is  that  what  you  mean, 
Maud  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Greatorex. 

"  Oh !  mamma,  mamma,  your  voice  is  full  of  disap. 
pointment,  isn't  it,  papa  ?     I  am  not  at  all  flattered." 

"Positively  declined  it,  Maud?"  reiterated  Mrs. 
Greatorex 

"  Yes— he  said  it  wouldn't  have  suited  me,"  said  Maud 
firmly—"  he  is  coming  to  tell  you  all  about  it  himself." 

"What's  the  use  if  he  has  refused  it,  as  you  say  he  has 
— he  might  have  waited  for  our  opinion — for  your  father's 
at  least." 

"  I  can  better  trust  Escott's  judgment  than  my  own," 
—said  the  rector ;  he  had  felt  his  daughter's  arm  tremble 

10* 


114  SKIRMISHING. 

— she  pressed  her  head  against  his  shoulder  and  said  so 
low  that  he  could  scarcely  be  sure  of  the  words,  "  Good 
papa." 

The  two  pair  of  very  wide  open  ears  belonging  to  the 
footman  and  smart  parlour  maid,  did  not  allow  of  the 
subject  being  continued  during  dinner.  At  dessert  the 
tongues  of  the  family  were  loosened.  Master  Charlie 
with  his  hair  freshly  brushed  and  a  smart  little  neck-tie, 
Carry  without  her  pinafore  and  with  a  long  sash,  then 
made  their  appearance  to  be  sure ;  but  no  one  thought 
of  being  on  their  guard  before  the  children,  and  yet  is  it 
not  a  proverb  that,  "  Bairns  speak  in  the  field  what  they 
hear  in  the  hall  ?" 

"Have  you  heard,  grandmamma," began  Mrs.  Greatorex, 
as  soon  as  she  had  made  sure  that  papa  had  not  given 
more  than  a  justifiable  quantity  of  fruit  to  the  young 
ones,  "have  you  heard  that  Walter  has  had  the  offer  of 
a  living  and  refused  it  point  blank?"  Charlie  laid  down 
his  bit  of  pear  and  opened  his  eyes  very  wide.  The  little 
tone  of  complaint  in  Mrs.  Greatorex's  voice  did  not  pass 
unnoticed  by  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  who  replied  in  her  usual 
off-hand  way, 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  suppose  he  has  some  good  reasons 
for  refusing." 

"  Indeed  he  has,  grandmamma,"  said  Maud  with  rapid 
alternations  of  colour. 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  one  of  those  bad  practical  jokes, 
where  a  living  means  a  starving,"  continued  ^Irs.  Les- 
crimi^re.  "  1  am  glad  Escott  has  shown  himself  a  man 
of  sense  in  a  case  where  so  many  men  would  have  acted 
on  the  principle  of  taking  no  care  for  the  morrow." 

Mrs.  Lcscrimibre's  well-meant  speech,  went,  as  well- 
meant  speeches  often  do,  the  wrong  way,  it  touched  the 
aching  ])lace  in  Maud's  heart — the  young  lady  had  always 
heard — that  where  there  was  much  feeling,  llicre  was 
little  reason — and  here  was  grandmamma  praising  Kscott 
for  showing  sense  where  other  men  circumstanced  like 
himself,  usually  lose  their  heads.  Grandmamma's  speech 
did  double  duty;  it  made  even  kind  Mr.  (Ireatorex  look 
grave — wliy  would  his  mother-in-law  (pioto  scripture  so 
perversely  before  a  clergyman  and  a  clergyman's  children 
— it  was  like  abusing  the  sovereign  in  the  presence  of 
those  who  wear  that  sovereign's  uniform. 


A   WORD   BEFORE,    IS   WORTH   TWO   AFTER.      115 

"  Mother,"  said  Charlie,  breaking  the  silence  and  im- 
periously claiming  Mrs.  Greatorcx's  attention,  "  when  will 
Walter  get  another  living  ?" 

"  I  can't  tell,  ray  dear." 

"Then  Maud  won't  be  married  before  I  go  to  school, 
perhaps  not  for  ever  so  long,  eh,  mother  ?" 

"  It  all  depends  on  circumstances,  CharJie,"  said  Mrs. 
Greatorex  pettishly. 

Maud  heard  this  dialogue  though  Carry  was  whisper- 
ing to  her,  "  We  met  Walter  on  the  Lea  and  '  poor 
Dodge.' "  Carry  had  learned  to  call  George  "  poor 
Dodge"  from  her  mother.  "  Walter  said  he  wasn't 
coming  here  this  evening — for  I  asked  him — perhaps  he  is 
going  to  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Brown." 

Mr.  Greatorex,  recovering  from  his  gravity,  now  replied 
to  Mrs.  Lescrimiferc. 

"1  am  glad,"  he  said  "  that  Escott  and  Maud  settled 
the  matter  without  applying  to  me.  Every  man  must  be 
the  best  judge  of  what  he  requires  to  live  upon." 

Charlie  here  put  in  his  voice  again,  diverting  attention 
to  Escott's  affairs,  Maud  was  by  this  time  all  over  pin 
point  wounds. 

"  Motherkin,"  stroking  her  hand — "  Charlton  is  let — 
— yes  indeed  it  is — I  met  Mrs.  Lonsdale  out  driving  and 
she  stopped  and  told  me  to  tell  you — it's  to  somebody 
very  rich,  and  he  has  a  governess  and  lots  of  children — but. 
she  didn't  say  he  had  a  wife,  and  he's  not  old — not  so  old 
as  papa,  for  I  asked." 

Mr.  Greatorex  laughed,  saying  as  most  papas  do  on 
such  occasions, 

"  You  jackanapes,  what  do  you  mean  by  calling  me 
old." 

"  Charlton  is  beyond  our  drives,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex, 
"  and  I  shall  not  call  on  any  more  strangers  unless  they 
have  introductions  to  the  neighbourhood — besides  what's 
the  use  ?" — she  added  in  a  lower  voice  :  Mrs.  Greatorex 
was  out  of  sorts  with  Escott — a  faint  regret  rising  in  her 
mind.  Maud  might  have  done  better.  Mothers  are  often 
inconstant  to  their  intended  sons-in-law. 


116  SKIRMISHING. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

love's  curse. 

THIS  evening  was  as  like  other  evenings  Maud  had 
remembered  for  years,  as  are  two  leaves  of  the  same 
tree.  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  sat  on  one  side  of  the  fire  in  her 
own  chair  with  her  moderator  lamp  on  a  stand  to  her 
right,  reading  the  newspaper,  with  (as  usual)  bursts  of 
indignation  such  as,  "I  cannot  understand  how  the  Eng- 
lish can  be  so  blind  to  their  own  shortcomings — con- 
stantly burning  incense  to  themselves— they  are  the 
greatest  people,  the  most  civilized,  enterprising,  far- 
sighted,  inventive,  clever  nation  under  the  sun — they 
never  seem  to  recollect  the  existence  of  France,  and  yet 
I  think  France  has  some  little  influence  on  the  world." 

And  Mr.  Greatorex  looking  across  from  his  side  of  the 
fire  to  the  speaker  answered  (as  usual)  placidly, 

"  It's  our  good  opinion  of  ourselves  makes  our  force — 
once  rob  a  man  of  his  self-esteem  and  he  goes  to  the  wall 
in  no  time.  Vic  claim  a  high  character  for  ourselves, 
and  we  feel  bound  to  act  up  to  it — the  proof  that  we  do 
so,  is  the  universal  respect  felt  for  England  even  by  those 
who  criticize  ami  rail  at  the  English." 

"  Universal  respect,  my  son,  for  English  gold " 

"llush!"  says  Mr.  (Jreatorcx,  "you  arc  pleading 
against  your  own  clients." 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  O.realorex  busy  about  some 
work,  was  iiiterrujited  every  half  dozen  stitches  by  a 
<|U('stion  from  Charlie,  who  with  his  hands  buried  in  his 
curly  locks  was  reading  a  volume  of  Walter  Scott  and 
was  horribly  perplexed  by  Ihe  Scotch  dialogues. 

^laud  had  seen  and  lieard  the  same  sayings  and  doings 
over  and  over  again,  lor  years.  Everything  se(Mni'd  to 
liavc  stood  still  but  herself;  she  had  suddenly  burst  into 
some  new  world.  After  tea,  she  would  have  to  play  Mo- 
zart's 'J'wclfth  Mass  to  her  father,  and  he  woukl  go  to 
s1p('|)  and  wake  \ip  with  the  last  chord,  and  thank  her 
with  the  same  politeness,  as  thougli  she  had  l)een  some 
guest.     Mr.  Grcatorcx's  politeness  to  the  members  of  his 


love's  curse.  IIT 

own  family  was  perfect ;  and  it  had  the  happy  effect  of 
keeping  under  all  violent  demonstrations  of  temper. 
Prayers  at  ten,  and  a  courteous  good-uiglit  to  the  assem- 
bled servants — and  then  Maud  was  in  her  own  room. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  always  accompanied  grandmamma  to 
her  bed-chamber  to  have  a  few  words  of  confidential  chat ; 
in  all  the  twenty  years  of  Mrs.  Greatorex's  marriage,  she 
had  never  broken  through  that  habit. 

"  I  am  not  satisfied  with  this  business  of  Walter's," 
began  the  rector's  wife.  '•  I  am  out  of  all  patience  with 
him,  mother ;  he  is  a  man  of  wood — not  a  drop  of  warm 
blood  in  his  veins." 

"  Hey-day,  Louisa — that's  a  new  view  of  yours — what- 
ever he  is,  Maud  loves  him,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  went  on  angrily,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
is,  mother,  she  doesn't  know  him  a  bit  better  now  than 
she  did  the  day  he  proposed  to  her — I  am  certain  he 
never  talks  to  her  of  the  future.  It  is  a  puzzle  to  me 
why  they  marry." 

"  As  for  that,  my  good  daughter,  every  one  is  puzzled 
by  their  neighbor's  choice ;  attraction  and  repulsion  are 
mysteries — the  effect  exists,  we  see  and  feel  that — the 
why  and  wherefore  are  hidden." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  has  ever  even  kissed  her,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Greatorex. 

The  tone  of  this  exclamation  was  too  much  for  Mrs. 
Lescrimiferc;  she  burst  into  one  of  her  loudest  and  mer- 
riest laughs — Mrs.  Greatorex  half  ashamed  of  her  own 
speech  retreated  for  the  night. 

A  light  tap  at  Maud's  door,  and  in  came  grand- 
mamma. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  want  to  ask  you,  if  what  T  said  at 
dessert  pained  you.  I  really  should  have  thought  Escott 
a  selfish  goose  if  for  the  sake  of  a  few  months'  delay,  he 
had  hurried  you  into  life-long  difficulties — besides  with  his 
large  ideas  of  benevolence  he  would  have  pinched  himself 
in  every  way,  denied  himself  every  little  pleasure  to  give 
away  with  both  hands — and,  my  dear  girl,  the  best  of  men, 
acting  upon  principle,  bear  great  sacrifices  well,  but  small 
ones  sting  them  into  crossness,  a  very  common-place 
word — the  one  though  which  best  expresses  my  meaning — 
do  yon  understand,  Maud  ?" 


118  SKIRMISniNG. 

"Yes,  indeed,  grandmamma — and  indeed  I  am  not 
pained  or  hurt — neither  by  you  nor  anybody  else." 

"  Then  good  night,  my  child — I  just  wished  to  be  sure 
I  had  not  vexed  you — good  night." 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  had  closed  the  door,  Maud 
placed  the  light  on  the  mantle-piece  and  went  and  leaned 
against  the  window ;  there  was  light  enough  from  the 
stars  to  let  her  see  the  church  and  the  white  head-stones 
round  it,  and  the  white  footpath  leading  thither.  She 
knew  every  inch  of  ground  she  looked  upon,  and  loved  it; 
the  scene  was  not  picturesque  but  simple,  homely,  and  so 
(juiet.  Nothing  moving  save  the  bony-looking  leafless 
branches  of  the  trees. 

"  They  seem  to  be  brushing  the  sky,"  said  Maud  to  her- 
self, and  yet  she  was  thinking  of  anything  rather  than  the 
trees,  if  thinking  it  could  bo  called,  that  bewildered  con- 
sciousness of  sorrow — of  having  been  stupid  in  the  past — 
and  of  having  a  blank  for  the  future.  "  It  will  be  all  the 
same  a  hundred  years  hence,"  soliloquized  the  poor 
thing — "  all  those  people  lying  so  tranquilly  under  the 
church  walls,  had  heavy  aching  hearts  at  one  time." 
And  then  she  felt  something  softly  tickling  her  cheek 
and  putting  up  her  cold  hand  she  found  hot  tears  rolling 
down  her  face.  She  at  once  tried  a  little  dissimulation 
with  herself  as  to  their  source.  Poor  mamma  !  had  been 
hurt — and  even  grandmaiuma  was  sorry,  everybody  was 
sorry  for  her.  Maud  grew  colder  and  colder  with  ner- 
vousness. She  was  fighting  her  first  battle  with  sorrow, 
aud  she  had  a  great  longing  to  be  coml'ortcd. 

Urged  by  this  desire,  she  got  as  far  as  the  door,  intend- 
ing to  go  to  her  grandmother,  then  she  drew  back 
ashamed — what  could  she  say  ?  She  took  off  her  dress, 
put  on  her  wrapper — and — she  was  very  young  of  her 
age,  not  at  all  self-reliant,  and  so,  she  nuist  be  excused, 
if,  instead  of  lying  awake  and  miserable  all  night,  she  crept 
away  to  Mrs.  Jicscrimicre's  room. 

The  old  lady  was  not  asleep.  She  was  transgressing 
good  rules,  l)y  reading  in  bed.  'I'lie  iiioinciit  she  saw 
Maud,  she  laid  aside  her  book  and  held  out  her  arms 
witliout  asking  any  questions. 

"  I  am  so  cold,  grandmamma." 

"  Well,  my  child,  no  wonder,  if  you   run   about  in   u 


love's  curse.  119 

November  niglit,  undressed.  Put  on  that  douillette,  and 
wrap  that  shawl  round  your  feet — draw  your  chair  close 
to  the  bed,  and  tell  me  what's  the  matter  ?" 

"  It's  so  difficult,"  began  Maud,  in  almost  a  whisper. 
"I  feel,  but  I  cannot  explain—"  then  with  a  sob,  "oh  ! 
grandmamma,  you  and  mamma  think  he  does  not  care 
for  me." 

"  You  are  dreaming,  Maud ;  this  is  mere  fancy.  You'll 
see  it  is  so,  to-morrow." 

"  No,  no,  grandmamma.  I  think — I  think — it  had  all 
better  be  given  up." 

"  Give  up  your  lover — certainly — if  you  doubt.him  and 
yourself." 

"  I  don't  doubt  myself.  Grandmamma,  if  he  had  loved 
me,  really,  quite  really  you  know,  wouldn't  he  rather  have 
been  a  little  poor,  than  not  have  been  married — do — pray 
do,  tell  me  the  truth,  grandmamma." 

"  There's  one  sort  of  love  that  would  undoubtedly  have 
married  in  haste,  Maud,  not  the  best — not  the  most  en- 
during— a  fierce  flame  soon  subsides  into  cold  ashes.  All 
tliat  is  to  last  long,  takes  time  to  build.  Escott  and  you 
are  only  laying  the  foundations  of  what  is  to  be  the  work 
of  both  your  lives — more  especially  yours,  to  keep  in 
good  repair." 

"  But  why  should  women  always "  Maud  hesitated 

— "  always  have  to  try  and  preserve  a  husband's  affec- 
tions ?"  Maud  looked  proud  as  she  spoke.  "  It  ought  to 
be  equally  necessary  for  a  man  to  care  about  his  wife." 

"  First  of  all,  Maud,  put  this  into  your  head ;  there's 
no  such  thing  as  equality  in  any  shape  in  the  world.  Men 
don't  love  as  women,  they  love  as  men.  My  dear,  what 
could  have  induced  Mr.  Escott  to  ask  you  to  marry  him 
if  he  did  not  love  you ;  happily  for  you,  you  are  no 
heiress  ?" 

Maud's  eyes  looked  larger  than  ever  with  eagerness 

"May  I  tell  you  all,  grandmamma?  You  won't  think 
ill  of  him,  only  I  want  so  to  be  advised." 

"  Trust  me,  my  child,  I  will  bo  4^)erfectly  frank  with 
you.    Even  though  it  may  pain  you  V" 

In  almost  a  whisper  Maud  said, 

"  He  is  often  rough  to  me,  when  I  know  I  am  doing 
right,  helping  mamma  with  the  children  I  mean,  yet  he  is 


120  SKIRMISHING.  • 

quite  out  of  patience  witli  me;  and  then,  when  we  are 
alone,  he  yawns,  and  when  I  see  that,  I  lose  heart  and 
grow  stupid." 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  repressed  a  smile. 

"  Yawning  is  not  a  very  polite  act,  but  an  excusable 
one,  in  a  man  who  has  had  hard  or  wearying  work.  I 
am  sure  it's  a  comfort  to  Escott  to  be  able,  or  to  fancy 
himself  permitted  to  yawn  by  your  side.  Do  you  mean 
to  quarrel  with  your  husband  for  gaping  in  your  pre- 
sence ?  I  knew  a  man  once  who  declared  there  was  no 
friendship,  until  yawning  was  not  considered  an  offence." 

"  Grandmamma,  a  joke  does  not  comfort  one." 

"  My  dear,  I  am  far  from  joking ;  you  don't  wish  me  to 
tell  you,  do  you,  that  this  unlucky  habit  of  Escott's  is  a 
proof  he  doesn't  love  you  ?  I'll  tell  you  something  else. 
He  is  a  nervous  man,  and  he  shrinks  from  qucrulousness, 
or  little  self-lamentings,  or  small  upbraidings." 

Maud  said, 

"Indeed,  grandmamma,  I  never  venture  to  find  fault 
Mitli  him." 

"  No,  not  in  words,  but  perhaps  you  have  looked  like  a 
victim,  nothing  a  man  hates  more,  or  been  silent,  or  even 
resentful  more  by  omission  of  kindness  than  commission 
of  nnkiiulness."  !Maud  winced  at  the  recollection  of  how 
she  had  turned  away  from  his  "(Jixl  bless  you."  "You 
love  him,  you  would  break  your  little  heart  if  you  were  to 
quarrel  with  liun ;  then,  my  child,  don't  weigh  his  love 
against  yours,  be  above  that  sort  of  bargaining,  try  to 
conform  yourself  to  the  exigencies  of  his  nature  without 
sacrificing  a  principle  bicn  cntendu.     Maiid     .     .     ." 

"If  I  only  knew  how  to  make  him  love  me  very,  very 
much,"  persisted  Maud,  though  her  face  and  neck  were 
in  a  blaze  of  scarlet  at  the  avowal. 

"As  Orlando  did  Angelica?"  laughed  Mrs.  Lescrimiferc : 
"child,  child,  make  him  ha))py  by  always  showing  him  a 
])lacid,  loving  face  ;  coml'ort  him  with  checrfulnpss  and 
serenity,  and  he  wont  be  able  to  live  without  you,  though 
he  does  not  fall  at  you  feet  to  tell  you  so  every  day.  Home 
people  require  cheerfulness  in  those  they  live  with,  to 
make  up  fiir  their  own  deficiency  in  animal  spirits.  Escott 
1  am  sure  has  a  very  small  pulse.  You  imagine  he  does 
not  care  whether  you  arc  pleased  or  not.     LooU  at  him 


love's  curse.  121 

■when  he  comes  to-morrow,  he  is  too  proud  or  rather  too 
sensitive  to  speak  of  regret  or  anxiety,  but  watch  him." 

Maud's  face  was  hid  in  the  bed-clothes  and  she  gave  no 
answer. 

"  I  have  not  heard  all  your  misfortunes  yet,"  continued 
Mrs.  Lescrimifere  in  that  cheerful  voice  which  made  Maud 
fancy  that  her  grandmother  could  not  understand  her 
pitiful  plight.  '■  Don't  let  any  sorrow  eat  your  heart 
away,  my  dear,  while  you  can  be  cured  or  at  least  soothed 
by  a  friend,  a  real  friend."  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  patted  her 
grandchild's  head,  and  drawing  out  a  silken  curl  to,  its 
full  length  said,  "  What  pretty  hair  you  have,  my  child." 

The  caress  and  the  compliment  unlocked  the  young 
heart,  which  had  closed  itself  at  the  idea  of  its  griefs 
being  slighted. 

"  Grandmamma  !  can  a  man  love  a  woman  very  much, 
though  she  is  not  beautiful  ?" 

"  Yes,  most  assuredly.  I  have  known  men  made  incon- 
stant by  plain  women." 

"  Really  !"  and  Maud  looked  up  hoping  for  examples. 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  ask  me  to 
explain  what  makes  a  man  fall  in  love.  You  might  as 
well  ask  me  to  explain  why  evil  is  permitted." 

"  No  grandmamma,  it  isn't  that,"  and  once  more  the 
face  was  buried  in  the  counterpane — "  but — but — I  never 
see  liis  eye  on  me  ....  and  he  looks  so  much  at  other 
people." 

"Ah  !  at  me — or  your  mother,  I  don't  know  who  else  he 
has  to  gaze  at,"  the  truth  suddenly  Hashed  on  the  old 
lady — and  she  added,  quickly,  "  or  Mrs.  Brown  ?" 

Maud  was  silent,  though  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  could  not 
see  the  flush,  the  girl  was  once  more  scarlet  with  shame 
— the  instant  the  suspicion  that  had  been  lurking  in  her 
mind  was  put  into  words,  Maud  felt  how  unworthy  it  was 
of  Escott  and  herself. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  remained  silent  also,  her  hand  still 
resting  on  the  bowed  head  ;of  her  granddaughter.  "When 
she  spoke  again,  all  liveliness  had  fled  from  her  voice. 
She  said, 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  my  poor  little  girl — so  sorry. 

What  years  of  suffering  are  in  store  for  you,  and  for  him 

too.     You  must  be  badly  organized  for  happiness,  Maud, 

II 


122  SKIRMISHING. 

if  on  siuch  a  small  pretext  you  are  jealous.  I  cannot 
help  you,  my  dear  child ;  convinced  to-night  of  your  folly, 
to-morrow  you  would  be  as  full  of  doubts  as  ever." 

Maud,  startled  by  the  sentence  thus  passed  on  her, 
exclaimed, 

'■  Oh  !  grandmamma,  if  you  only  knew  all  I  have  heard, 
Mrs.  Lonsdale " 

"  Stop,  my  dear — you  remember  Eve's  excuse  ;  it  was 
the  serpert  tempted  me,  and  Adam's — the  woman  gave  it 
to  me — we  seek  to  throw  the  blame  on  others,  when  the 
deciding  cause  to  evil-doing  exists  in  ourselves.  And, 
Maud,  reflect  on  what  you  have  done — in  your  thoughts  ; 
you  have  accused  the  man  you  love,  the  man  who  has 
singled  you  out  to  be  the  companion  of  his  life,  who  relies 
on  your  strength  to  be  constant — constancy  is  not  so  easy, 
child, — you  have,  confess  it,  believed  him  capable  of  try- 
ing to  delay  his  marriage,  because  of  his  admiration  for 
another  woman — but  no,  you  couldn't  believe  this,  or  you 
would  resign  him  at  once.  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  my 
little  girl." 

"  You  break  my  heart,  grandmamma."  Maud  was  now 
sobbing  like  a  repentant  child.  "I  am  growing  wicked 
— I  am  wicked.  1  have  been  feeling  so  unkind  to  every 
one,  as  if  I  could  not  believe  or  trust  any  one — as  if  every 
one  was  a  hypocrite." 

"  For  every  one,  read  Escott  and  poor  Mrs.  Brown. 
You  have  been  the  only  hypocrite  yourself,  Maud,  in 
being  civil  to  a  woman  whose  eyes  you  could  have  torn 
out.  Hopeless  as  your  case  is,  my  dear,  I'll  give  you  one 
proof  that  Mrs.  IJrown  is  not  meditating  conquests,  her 
dress.  She  luis  worn  that  one  black  dress  ever  since  we 
have  known  her,  and  her  bonnet  looks  as  if  it  had  come 
out  of  the  ark.  Now  kiss  me,  and  go  to  bed,  go  to. bed, 
child." 

Maud  kissed  her  grandmother  passionately, — 

"  There's  no  one  like  you,  grandmamnui,  so  good  and 
so  wise." 

AVlicn  Maud  was  goiu',  Mrs.  Lescrimifcre  drew  the  bed- 
clot  lies  iibout  her,  and  muttered, — 

"  Ah,  le  bon  vieux  temps  quand  j'itais  si  malheureiise." 


THE   TWO   SIDES   OP  THE   SHIELD.  123 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   TWO    SIDES   OF   THE   SHIELD. 

E SCOTT  had  one  of  those  reserved  natures  which  can- 
not give  confidence,  but  are  happy  to  allow  it  to  be 
taken.  Maud  did  not  understand  this  the  least  in  the 
world,  and  when  he  did  not  enlarge  on,  or  continue  a 
subject,  she  retreated  from  it,  believing  that  she  thus 
showed  a  proper  discretion  ;  in  short,  had  she  cared  less 
to  please  him,  she  would  have  made  him  happier. 

When  he  walked  away  from  the  rectory,  Escott  was 
thoroughly  aware  that  he  had  mortified  Maud,  by  his 
hasty  refusal  of  the  college  living  ;  he  was  uncomfortable 
at  having  pained  her,  and  vexed  at  her  throwing  back  his 
parting  blessing  ;  and  comparing  one  thing  with  another, 
he  ended  where  he  began,  by  feeling  that  Maud  was 
unreasonable. 

"  She  would  have  been  charmed  with  me  if  I  had 
plunged  her  into  difficulties,  that  would  have  been  a 
proof  of  love." 

lie  was  uncommonly  out  of  conceit  with  love  and 
marriage  at  that  moment,  and  without  any  suspicion  that 
some  defect  of  temper  in  himself  might  justify  doubts  on 
Maud's  part  as  to  his  tenderness  for  her. 

In  this  mood  he  overtook  George  Brown.  The  boy 
answered  his  greeting  very  drily  ;  as  they  were  going  the 
same  road,  they  were  companions  perforce,  Escott 
having  inquired  for  Mrs.  Brown  said, 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  come  now  so  seldom  to  church. 
I  have  missed  you  there,  these  three  last  Sundays.  I 
expected  greater  perseverance  from  you." 

George  laughed  one  of  his  reckless  laughs  and  replied, 

"  I  was  a  humbug  and  I  am  sick  of  being  one,  and 
that's  the  best  thing  I  can  say  for  myself.  Neither  you 
nor  I  know  anything  of  the  next  world — we  know  little 
even  of  this  present  one— and  I  don't  see  the  use  of 
giving  up  all  that  is  pleasant  now  for  the  chance  of  some- 
thing better  by-and-by.  I  was  happy  enough  before  you 
began  teaching  me  religion,  as  you  call  it.     I  never  did 


124  SKIRMISHING. 

liarm  to  anybody,  I  liked  everybody; yoii  first  taught  me 
to  dislike  byyovxr  manner  tome.  I  wish  to  heavens,  we 
had  never  seen  this  place.  I  hate,  I  abominate  it  and 
^  every  soul  belonging  to  it.  I  shall  never,  never  be  happy 
any  more." 

Escott  was  surprised,  almost  dismayed  at  such  an 
attack.  George's  frankness  helped  him  out  of  his  mail 
of  reserve. 

"  I  cannot  regret,"  said  the  curate,  "  having  tried  to 
bring  you  nearer  to  God,  nor  do  I  regret  the  loss  of  your 
former  careless  humour  ;  it  is  a  small  price  to  pay  for 
having  been  awakened  to  a  knowledge  of  the  love  of  our 
Saviour.  George,  I  am  sorry  for  any  pain  I  may  have 
given  you,  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  but  I  rejoice  that 
I  have  stirred  your  soul  from  its  deadly  slumber,  it 
can  never  sleep  again ;  and  you  will,  you  must  seek 
God — become  in  truth  His  child — I  will  pray  for  this 
always." 

"  Much  3'ou  remember  me,  unless  I  happen  to  come 
across  you."  said  George,  fiercely.  "You  haven't  put 
yo;ir  foot  within  our  doors  for  weeks — you  liaven't  seen 
me  when  I  have  been  within  a  yard  of  you.  I  am  a  hum- 
bug, you  are  a  humbug,  we  are  all  humbiigs  togolhor." 

'J'herc  was  such  real  feeling  in  the  boy's  words  and 
looks  that  Escott  was  touched  instead  of  offended ;  he 
said  sootliingly, 

"  My  dear  boy,  your  mother  in  so  many  words  told  me. 
she  did  not  care  that  I  should  see  so  much  of  you." 

"My  mother,  my  mother,"  repeated  George  impatienfr- 
ly;  "my  mother,  Mr.  Escott,  cares  only  for  one  thing  in 
the  world.  She  would  sacrifice,"  a  pause,  "  fifty  children 
for  that  one  end." 

P^scott  was  too  scrupulous  to  ask,  "  And  what  may 
that  be  ?" 

George  went  on. 

"  .She  luul  no  right  to  interfere  between  you  and  me — 
both  of  you  to  treat  mo  as  if  I  had  no  sense  or  will  of  my 
own.  If  I  go  wrong,  I'll  lay  it  at  both  your  doors.  Oh  ! 
how  I  wish  I  knew  of  somewhere  to  go  and  be  quiet — 
out  of  every  oiie'.s  reach,  and  I'll  manage  it  some  day," 
concluded  George  with  a  curious  triumphant  look  at 
Escott. 


THE   TWO    SIDES   OF   THE   SHIELD.  125 

Escott  made  a  deprecatory  gesture  as  much  as  to  say, 
What  can  I  do  in  the  matter?  and  walked  on  reflecting 
somewhat  sadly,  how  it  had  happened  that  meaning  well 
he  seemed  to  dissatisfy  every  hody.  He  had  vexed  and 
mortified  Mand,  and  now  here  was  this  boy,  for  whom  he. 
had  an  elder  brother's  interest,  vehemently  accusing  him 
of  having  done  him  an  injury.  He  was  roused  from  his 
unpleasant  reverie  by  George's  beginning  to  whistle  the 
obnoxious  polka  he  had  whistled  the  Sunday  evening  de- 
scribed in  the  first  chapter.  Escott  turned  and  looked 
at  George  and  then  perceived  that  the  once  jaunty  air 
had  vanished,  the  then  apple-round  cheeks  were  grown 
thin,  and  an  indescribable  air  of  suffering  was  imprinted 
on  the  short  figure  wrapped  so  closely  in  a  cloak.  Mrs. 
liescrimifere  had  said  right,  that  George  was  looking  ill. 

"  Don't  you  feel  well  ?"  asked  Escott,  kindly. 

"  Quite,  thanks,"  was  the  off-hand  answer.  "  Never 
had  a  doctor  since  I  was  two  feet  high— don't  know  or 
don't  remember  what  illness  is." 

"  I  thought  your  mother  came  here  for  the  sake  of  your 
health." 

"  If  she  did,  she  did  not  tell  me  so.  Ah  !  here  are  the 
dear  chihlren  from  the  rectory.  No  walking  here  with- 
out meeting  them.  Charlie  with  a  dead  rabbit,  and 
tender-hearted  Carry  charmed  with  his  prowess." 

Carry  ran  to  him  whom  she  always  called  Hodge,  and 
put  her  hand  into  his. 

"  I  don't  love  anybody  to-day.  Carry,"  George  said,  and 
with  a  "  good-by  to  you  all,"  he  walked  off". 

As  Escott  left  the  children  at  tlie  same  time,  Carry 
had  innocently  made  Maud  believe  that  the  curate  and 
George  had  gone  away  together  to  the  Hatch,  and  upon 
this  false  foundation,  Maud  had  raised  a  superstructure 
of  jealousy.  She,  in  fact,  accused  Escott  of  leaving  her 
unhappy,  and  going  to  call  and  probably  spend  a  pleasant 
evening  with  Mrs.  Brown  as  he  had  once  before  done, 

Escott  was  a  methodical  man ;  therefore  he  employed 
his  evening  exactly  as  he  luid  intended  to  do.  previous 
to  his  interview  with  Maud  and  his  meeting  with  George, 
although  both  incidents  had  unhinged  him  for  that  par- 
ticular occupation — sermon-writing.     His    reasoning  on 

his  text  was  laboured,  yet  misty  and  confused ;  he  was 

ii» 


126  .     SKIRlVnSHING. 

quite  aware  that  there  was  a  double  current  of  thoughts 
running  through  his  mind,  and  not  keeping  so  clear  of 
one  another  as  do  the  waters  of  the  Rhone  and  Lake 
Leman.  He  rated  himself  soundly  for  allowing  his  inner 
life  to  be  so  easily  disturbed  by  things  from  without,  and 
ended  his  meditations  and  probably  his  sermon  also,  by 
a  peroration  as  to  the  little  we  can  do  to  render  our 
friends  happy  in  comparison  with  the  faculty  with  whicli 
we  can  make  them  unhappy.  And  his  conclusion  was  that 
of  all  the  causes  of  domestic  discomfort  none  was  greater 
than  that  of  temper ;  that  often  what  we  dignify  to  our- 
selves as  timidity  of  our  own  powers  of  pleasing,  is  mere 
bad  humour  born  of  mortified  vanity,  and  that  it  would 
be  well,  if  we  all  kept  in  mind  that,  when  anguish  of  soul 
or  body  overtakes  our  dearest,  not  one  pang,  not  one 
agony  can  we  spare  them,  no,  not  though  we  poured  out 
our  blood  like  water  for  them,  and  therefore  if  we  would 
spai'c  ourselves  hopeless  remorse,  we  must  strive  never  to 
be  voluntarily  the  instrument  to  stab,  or  the  cloud  to 
darken  the  lives  of  our  friends. 

No  man  relishes  his  infallibility  being  called  in  ques- 
tion, and  Escott  was  one  of  those,  described  by  somebody, 
as  born  without  a  skin.  Maud's  unlucky  coldness  he 
viewed  as  an  indirect  censure ;  he  never  dreamed  that 
she  might  believe  she  had  cause  to  think  him  indifferent. 
Maud  and  he  were  looking  at  the  same  circumstance 
from  opposite  sides.  It  was  the  old  story  of  the  Knights 
and  the  Shield. 

It  is  a  bad  business  when  we  destroy  the  confidence  of 
any  one  we  love,  as  to  our  kindly  reception  of  them, 
when  our  presence  is  entered  with  a  dread  as  to  the  mood 
in  which  we  may  be  found.  Such  a  long  period  must 
elapse  before  former  confidence  revives.  Escott  had 
very  little  will  to  go  to  the  rectory,  and  it  is  possible  he 
might  have  left  Maud  to  her  reflections  for  some  twenty- 
four  hours  longer,  had  he  not  felt  it  an  imperative  duty 
to  explain  to  Mr.  (jreatorex  the  reasons  wliich  had  made 
liim  refuse  the  living  offered  to  him.  On  his  way,  he 
railed  at  the  ITatcli.  Hans  made  him  understand  that 
Mrs.  Brown  was  not  well,  and  that  the  young  gentlcjuan 
was  out.  Escott,  who  wished  very  much  to  have  seen 
George,  left  his  card  and  walked  on  wondering  if  this 


THE   TWO   SIDES  OP   THE   SHIELD.       .        12T 

denial  were  not  one  of  Mrs.  Brcnu's  precautionary  mea- 
sures against  his  seeing  her  son. 

Maud,  as  will  be  easily  believed,  had  been  on  the  watch 
for  his  arrival,  and  her  heart  fluttered  in  quite  an  unknown 
manner  when  she  heard  the  click  of  the  gate  and  the 
familiar  step  in  the  porch.  He  must  find  her  looking 
pleased.  His  eyes  sought  her  anxiously  as  he  came  into 
the  room,  and  then  with  a  low  sigh  of  relief,  he  turned 
to  speak  to  the  other  ladies.  There  had  been  no  respond- 
ing smile  to  Maud's ;  and  then  she  realized  that  always 
hitherto  he  had  met  her  with  a  smile.  Her  heart  grew 
heavy. 

"  Well,  Walter,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greatorex,  "  so  you 
are  determined  against  love  in  a  cottage." 

"  Or  rather  against  a  cottage  without  love,  that's  what 
generally  happens  in  the  case  of  people  not  accustomed 
to  live  in  cottages,"  put  in  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  quickly. 

Mr.  Greatorex,  who  had  been  busy  with  his  plants  in 
the  conservatory,  catching  sight  of  Escott,  entered  the 
drawing-room. 

"  I  have  come  to  talk  over  this  letter  with  you,"  said 
Escott. 

"Jedburgh  justice,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex,  "hanged  first 
and  judged  afterwards.  As  you  and  Maud  have  already 
settled  the  matter,  I  think  I'll  reserve  my  advice  for  next 
time.  You  have  a  good  and  wise  counsellor  in  this  little 
girl,"  patting  Maud's  shoulder. 

"  She  is  clear  of  all  responsibility,"  said  Escott,  who 
was  not  one  to  creep  out  of  any  difficulty.  "  I  sent  my 
refusal  before  mentioning  to  her  the  offer  of  the  living." 

"  Well  she  acquiesced  in  the  decision,  and  that  comes 
to  the  same  thing." 

No  use  to  strive  after  a  connected  conversation  at  the 
rectory  during  the  day.  Before  Escott  could  reply,  three 
boys  had  rushed  into  the  room  through  three  different 
doors. 

Escott  had  not  yet  spoken  to  Maud.  More  from  habit 
than  from  any  wish  for  a  tete-d4ete,  he  asked  her  if  she 
were  going  out  to  walk.  She  said  yes  with  great  alacrity 
— but  the  walk  was  not  a  happy  one  to  her.  She  had 
self-control  enough  to  maintain  the  cheerfulness  advised 
oy  her  grandmother,  but  she  was  faint-hearted  then,  and 


128       •  SKIRMISHING. 

for  many  a  day,  for  many  an  ensuing  week.  She  came  to 
doubt  if  ever  she  and  Escott  would  be  on  the  same  terms 
as  before  her  one  sulky  fit.  So  trifling  to  be  sure,  the 
effect  seemed  so  beyond  the  cause — ay.  but  only  a  spark 
is  required  to  fire  the  gunpowder  which  blows  up  the 
fortress. 

This  is  perhaps  the  explanation.  Escott  had  known 
Maud  for  two  years,  seen  her  daily  and  never  once  had 
beheld  her  ruflled ;  he  had  believed  her  to  possess  the 
serenity  of  an  angel;  her  placidity  was  his  balm.  He 
required  it,  it  was  what  had  attracted  him  to  her.  All  of 
a  sudden,  on  the  first  occasion,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
that  she  was  tried  by  a  personal  incident,  she  failed. 
His  disappointment  was  acute,  for  he  fancied  that  the 
foundation  on  which  he  had  built  his  happiness  was 
of  sand. 

'■  What  is  to  come  of  us,  if  she  is  easily  piqued," 
thought  Escott.  Had  lie  consulted  Mrs.  Lescrimiferc  she 
would  have  comforted  him  by  saying,  that  Maud  had  the 
good  temper  of  a  woman,  and  not  of  an  angel. 

The  uncomforlable  lovers  had  a  glimpse  of  George 
Brown  during  their  walk.  Escott  shouted  to  him  to 
come  and  join  them,  but  George  was  deaf  as  an  adder  to 
the  invitation. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ONK   EYE-WITNESS    IS    BETTER   THAN   TEX    HEARSAYS. 

IT  was  the  twentieth  of  December :  the  next  day  was 
St.  Thomas'  feast,  which  in  Eden  and  the  neigbouring 
parishes  is  called  Gooding-day,  an  anniversary  wlien  it  is 
the  custom  for  tlie  wives  and  daughters  of  the  whole 
population  of  labourers,  singly  or  in  bands  to  go  to  gentle- 
men's residences  and  to  the  larger  farm-houses,  to  collect 
money  or  receive  gifts  of  some  kind. 

Mrs.  (Jrcatorex  was  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  shawls, 
petticoats,  jackets  and  stockings  befitting  (lie  season  ; 
some  of  her  purchases  were   still   to  make,  for   she  bad 

delayed  going  to  Z until  the  day  she  could  take  out 

the  (lothing-club  money  from  the  savings'  bauk. 


EYE-WITNESS  IS  BETTER  THAN   HEARSAY.      129 

Mrs.  Lescrimlbre  alone  accompanied  her,  for  Maud  had 
to  assist  the  governess  in  niakin<^  the  wreaths  for  the 
Christmas  decorations  of  the  church,  the  younger  ones 
had  to  search  for  holly  with  red  berries,  and  Mrs.  Greato- 
rex  had  various  matters  connected  with  the  joyous  season 
to  arrange. 

In  a  narrow  road,  about  half  way  between  Eden-  and 

Z ,  the  rectory  brougham  passed  a  railway  cab,  out  of 

which  a  little  thin  old  man  with  bright  blue  eyes  popped 
his  head,  as  it  seemed  with  some  intention  of  thrusting  it 
into  the  Greatorcxcs'  carriage. 

"  I  wonder  who  he  took  us  for,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  "  and  where  he  is  going  ?" 

The  cab  stopped  at  "  the  Fife,"  the  only  public  house 
in  Eden ;  the  little  old  gentleman,  he  must  have  been 
seventy,  ran  into  the  bar,  as  if  he  were  in  a  prodigious 
hurry,  and  asked  for  a  glass  of  beer.  AVhile  drinking 
it,  he  inquired  if  there  were  many  gentlemen's  families 
residing  in  the  village.  The  man  who  had  served  him, 
was  surly  and  taciturn,  so  the  old  gentleman  skipped 
back  again  to  his  cab,  no  wiser  about  the  neighborhood 
than  when  he  skipped  out.  But  just  then  the  Greato- 
rexes'  children  were  passing,  and  as  they  always  took  it 
for  granted,  that  every  carriage  that  came  to  Eden  must 
be  bound  to  their  house,  they  stopped  and  stared. 

Charlie,  who  was  not  deficient  in  curiosity  or  initiative, 
drew  near  to  the  cab,  and  called  out  to  the  driver, 

"  Do  you  want  to  be  shown  the  way  to  the  rectory  ?" 

"  Hullo !  youngster,"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  "  you 
know  all  the  people  hereabouts,  don't  you  ?" 

"I  rather  expect  I  do,"  returned  Charlie,  tossing  up 
the  knife  he  had  in  his  hand  and  catching  it  again. 

"Well,  what's  their  names?" 

"  Tell  me  the  first  letter  of  the  one  you  are  wanting," 
retorted  Charlie,  "there's  a  whole  alphabet  of  them  here; 
I  couldn't  go  through  such  a  lot  in  a  breath." 

"  What's  your  own  letter  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Mine  !  let's  see.  I  declare  I  forget,"  and  the  boy  ran 
laughing  away.  The  old  man  lauglied  too,  and  bid  the 
driver  go  on  to  the  rectory. 

The  stranger's  appearance  puzzled  James.  Servants 
in  general  guess  the  station  of  visitors  instantly,  but  the 


1 30  SKIRMISHING. 

rector's  man  hesitated  where  to  class  this  stranger.  The 
head  belonged  to  a  gentleman,  the  body  did  not — the 
features  of  the  face  were  good,  a  high  broad  forehead, 
sharp,  clear  blue  eyes,  a  broad  bridged  nose — the  mouth 
fallen  in  from  want  of  teeth,  but  pleasant,  the  hair  sparse, 
grey,  and  brushed  up  to  add  all  the  height  possible  to  the 
diminutive  stature.  The  shirt-collar  was  limp,  not  very 
white,  the  shirt-frout  speckled  with  snuff — the  black  coat 
and  the  other  appendages,  not  threadbare,  but  rusty 
and  dusty,  and  covered  with  what  looked  like  dog's  hairs, 
the  feet  large  and  flat  in  thin  shoes,  that  had  been 
mended. 

"  An  undertaker,"  thought  James,  "  or  a  genteel 
beggar." 

"Tell  your  master,  that  Mr.  Twyford  from  London 
wishes  to  sec  him."  The  stranger's  voice  dissipated 
James's  theories ;  the  queer-looking  old  fellow  must  be 
a  gentleman ;  James  took  the  message  and  in  a  minute 
returned  and  ushered  Mr.  Twyford  into  the  rector's  com- 
fortable library. 

Mr.  Greatorex  was  a  shy,  reserved  man;  contact  with 
strangers  was  always  disagreeable  to  him :  lie  remained 
standing  after  Mr.  Twy ford's  entrance,  a  hint  that  he 
hoped  the  interview  might  not  last  long. 

Mr.  Twyfurd  was  very  much  at  his  ease,  took  up  a 
stand  on  the  hearthrug,  stuck  his  thumbs  into  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  said, 

"  A  very  snug  retreat,  sir — capital  engraving  that  of 
St.  Peter's — you,  like  myself,  have  been  to  Rome  I  sup- 
pose— as  the  folks  over  the  duck-pond  say,  all  roads  lead 
to  Rome.  Not  much  faith  in  the  politics  of  Italy's  big 
brother — have  you?  fighting  for  an  idea — trash — fight- 
ing to  keep  himself  on  his  tin-one  of  bayonets — pleasant 
seat." 

"  Afay  I  beg  yon  to  state  to  what  I  owe  the  pleasure  of 
your  visit,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex. 

"  Very  true,"  replied  this  lively  little  old  man — tlirust- 
ing  his  hands  deep  into  one  of  his  pockets — of  course  not 
into  the  one  in  which  was  the  article  he  was  seeking. 
"  Very  true;  I  think  it  must  have  been  your  son  I  met  at 
the  entrance  of  this  village — a  One  sharp  fellow — sharj) 
as  a  needle — born  to  cut  out  his  own  way."    The  rector's 


EYE-WITNESS  IS  BETTER   THAN   HEARSAY.      131 

face  relaxed — and  he  was  not  so  much  on  liis  guard  as 
five  minutes  previously.  By  that  time  Mr.  Twyford  had 
one  of  those  leather  cases  in  his  hand  which  generally 
enclose  a  miniature — this  he  opened,  saying,  "Are  you 
acquainted  with  or  have  you  ever  seen  the  original  of  this 
portrait  ?" 

James  had  plenty  of  time  allowed  him  for  wondering 
what  that  "  old  fogey's"  business  could  be.  Mr.  Twyford 
stayed  a  full  hour  with  the  rector ;  wine  and  sandwiches 
were  carried  into  the  library,  and  James  reported  to  the 
kitchen  "  there  was  bad  news  upstairs,  master  was  look- 
ing so  awfully  put  out."  Nurse  opined  it  was  "some  of 
them  beastly  Christmas  bills ;"  and  cook  observed, 
"everything  coined  out  one  day  or  t'other;  for  her  part, 
she  shouldn't  wonder  at  anything." 

James  distinctly  heard  the  old  gentleman's  parting 
words  to  Mr.  Greatorex  as  they  were  going  towards  the 
front  door,  which  James  was  holding  open.  The  old  gen- 
tleman said, 

"  After  all,  it's  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  her, 
better  a  finger  off  than  always  wagging." 

When  Mr.  Twyford  was  gone,  Mr.  Greatorex  went 
away,  up  the  hill,  from  whence  he  could  command  a  view 

of  the  Z road.     As  soon  as  he  saw  the  well-known 

brougham  approaching,  he  turned  homewards,  and  was  in 
time  to  hand  his  wife  and  mother-in-law  out  of  the  car- 
riage. 

"  Come  into  the  library,"  he  said  to  them,  "  I  have 
something  to  tell  you." 

He  put  aside  the  children  who  had  clustered  round  the 
two  ladies. 

" What's  wrong ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greatorex;  "some- 
thing, I  see  it  in  your  face." 

"  Disagreeable,  certainly,  but  sit  down,  I  can't  explain 
it  to  you  in  five  minutes.  I  have  had  a  visit  from  a 
London  lawyer." 

"  What  on  earth  about  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Greatorex,  begin- 
ning to  be  alarmed ;  she  had,  as  most  woman  have,  a 
vague  fear  of  lawyers'  letters  and  lawyers'  visits. 

"  He  came  about  Mrs.  Brown." 

The  rector  spoke  with  visible  reluctance. 

;Mrs.  Greatorex  clapped  her  hands  together  and  ex- 
claimed,— 


132  SKIRMISHING 

"  I  always  expected  it." 

"Expected  what?"  said  the  rector,  querulously,  for 
liini. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  had  not  the  courage  to  explain. 

"  She  has  been  an  ill-used  woman,  Louisa,"  continued 
the  rector,  "  and  that's  the  worst  I  have  heard  of  her." 

"But  how  came  this  London  lawyer  to  know  of  her 
being  in  Eden  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lescrimifere. 

"  By  the  merest  chance.  Miss  Cox  began  it.  You  re- 
member Broadwood,  the  school  inspector — he  and  Mrs. 
Brown  lunched  here  the  day  of  the  examination,  and  he 
was  uncommonly  struck  by  her  appearance — he  told  me 
then  he  was  sure  he  had  met  her  somewhere,  not  long  be- 
fore. Broadwood  happens  to  be  Twyford's  nephew,  and 
it  turns  out  that  he  had  seen  a  miniature,  a  capital  like- 
ness of  Mrs.  Brown,  now  in  Twyford's  possession,  and 
which  is  one  of  the  means  by  which  they  were  trying  to 
trace  her." 

"Who  is  trying  to  trace  her,  and  why  ?"  questioned 
Mrs.  Lcscrimiiire 

"The  police  are  looking  out  for  her;  she  is  wanted  as 
a  witness  to  identify  a  Mr.  Edward  Bouverie,  who  is 
under  a  charge  of  bigamy." 

Mrs.  droatorex  gave  a  significant  glance  of  reproach 
at  her  mother,  and  said,  drily, — 

"  I  hope  our  unlucky  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Brown  is 
not  to  take  us  all  into  a  witness-box." 

"  My  dear  woman,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex,  soothingly,  "  do 
remember  that  misfortune  does  not  mean  crime." 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Greatorex,  "but  there 
are  cases  that  are  like  pitch,  and  one  would  prefer  to 
keep  clear  of  having  anything,  past,  present,  or  future, 
to  do  witli  tlicm." 

"You  will  not,  nor  any  of  us,  be  involved  in  this  poor 
ladv's  trouble,"  returned  Mr.  Greatorex.  "  My  interview 
with  Mr.  Twyford  will  not  lead  to  that." 

"I  don't  tliink  it  very  gentlemanly  of  INIr.  Broadwood 
to  return  our  hcsi)itality  l)y  l)etraying  our  guests,"  said 
Mrs.  Greatorex,  hotly,  and  with  about  as  much  reason  as 
any  of  \is  e.\hil>it  when  we  are  uufommonly  vexed  and  a 
triile  frightened.  "And,"  added  \hv.  lady,  "  wlial  noed 
was  there  to  trouble  yon,  when  .Mr.  Broadwood  liad  told 
wiicrc  Mrs.  Brown  could  1)0  found  ?" 


EYE-WITNESS  IS   BETTER   THAN   HEARSAY.      133 

"  If  you  could  manage  to  1)C  a  little  reasonable,  and  ;i 
little  patient,  my  dear,  I  would  try  to  tell  you  what  I 
gathered  from  Mr.  T\^7ford." 

AVhcn  Mr.  Grcatorex  used  that  form  of  speech,  "  my 
dear,"  his  wife  knew  that  she  must  not  put  his  equani- 
mity to  any  further  stretch.  After  pausing  a  moment  to 
verify  the  chance  of  obtaining  a  fair  hearing,  the  rector 
began — 

"  The  first  thing  Mr.  Twyford  wanted  of  me  was  the 
assurance  that  the  person  resembling  the  miniature  he 
showed  me,  did  live  in  the  village,  and  also  to  make  cer- 
tain of  the  denomination  under  which  she  was  known. 
Broadwood  had  not  been  sure  of  either  fact,  any  more 
than  he  had  been  able  to  recollect  when  here,  where  it  was 
he  had  seen  Mrs.  Brown." 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  were  obliged  to  answer  such 
questions,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Lescrimifere. 

"  If  by  doing  so  I  had  betrayed  any  confidence,  cer- 
tainly I  should  not  have  done  so,"  said  the  rector,  "  in- 
deed I  heartily  wish  the  alternative  had  not  been  placed 
in  my  power,  for  I  am  half  afraid  I  yielded  in  some 
measure  from  a  desire  to  avoid  any  chance  of  being  put 
into  that  witness-box,  Louisa  so  dreads,  and  which  I 
must  own,  Mr.  Twyford  rather  hinted  at." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  escape  even  now,"  sighed  his 
wife. 

"I  answered  both  queries,"  continued  the  rector; 
"  I  did  not,  in  fact,  see  what  reason  I  could  give  for  a 
refusal.  I  added  that  nothing  could  have  been  more 
respectable  or  unoflending  than  Mrs.  Brown's  life,  since 
she  became  my  parishioner,  Mr.  Twyford  said,  he  could 
quite  believe  it,  from  some  letters  he  had  read,  written  by 
that  lady.  Then  I  asked  him  to  tell  me  (unless  there  was 
some  paramount  reason  against  it)  what  was  Mrs.  Brown's 
history,  saying,  that  as  the  ladies  of  my  own  family  were 
acquainted  with  her,  I  was  doubly  interested  in  tlie  mat- 
ter. He  answered  that  the  story  was  already  public 
property;  that  there  had  been  a  preliminary  examination, 
reported  as  usual  in  the  papers,  and  therefore  the  particu- 
lars were  at  my  service.  It  seems  that  a  certain  Mr. 
Bouverie  some  score  of  years  ago,  when  a  young,  dashing, 
handsome  man,  married  a  rich  elderly  spinster,  a  Miss  Mil- 

12 


134  SKIRMISHING. 

ford,  of  course,  every  one  but  herself  knew,  for  her  money. 
After  a  very  few  years,  she  got  uncomfortable  and  sus- 
picious of  his  frequent  absences  from  home — he  was  bitten, 
it  seemed,  by  a  mania  for  travelling,  and  on  one  pretext 
or  another  disembarrassed  himself  of  his  wife's  company. 
When  he  did  live  with  her,  he  behaved  kindly  and  thus 
maintained  his  influence  over  her  affections.  At  last,  one 
day,  a  letter  addressed  in  pretty  female  writing,  was  for- 
warded to  their  country  house  ;  he  was  not  at  home,  and 
she,  sheltering  herself  under  the  excuse  of  the  word 
"  immediate"  on  the  cover,  opened  it ;  there  was  an 
enclosure  directed  to  Edward  Brooke,  and  again  the 
word  "  immediate."  With  a  sharp  instinct  of  a  jealous 
woman  and  in  spite  of  the  change  of  name,  Mrs.  Bouvcrie 
broke  the  second  seal,  on  which  by-the-by  was  the  name 
Felicia  :  the  letter  was  from  a  wife  to  a  husband — every 
word  was  proof  of  that,  let  alone  the  signature  of  'Your 
own  loving  wife,  Felicia' — there  was  in  it  a  prayer  to 
come  to  her  directly  as  their  darling  was  ill.  There  must 
have  been  allusions,  conveying  certainty  to  Mrs.  Bouvcrie 
of  the  wrong  tliat  had  been  done  her,  for  she  proceeded  at 
once  to  ransack  her  husband's  desk  and  writing-table,  and 
even  broke  open  an  escritoire  in  his  dressing-room.  In 
this  last  piece  of  furniture  it  was  that  she  discovered  a 
few  faded  letters  and  the  miniature  Twyford  showed  me. 
and  which  cannot  have  been  painted  long,  it  is  so  wonder- 
fully like  the  original.  I  don't  know  whether  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bouvcrie  met  after  her  nuirauding,  but'J'wyford  told 
me,  she  went  to  her  sister's  son  who  is  also  her  heir-at- 
law,  gave  him  the  letters  and  llie  picture,  saying  that  she 
trusted  to  him  to  see  her  righted  and  protected.  Thi-a 
gentleman  was  nothing  loth  to  act  against  the  husband, 
whom  he  considered  as  his  rival  for  his  aunfs  property. 
Twyford  was  consulted  and  the  jxtlice  were  set  to  work. 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  old  lawyer's  face,"  said  the 
rector,  interrupting  his  narration,  "his  cheeks  burned 
and  his  eyes  glowed,  as  he  described  the  way  in  which  a 
cliain  of  evidence  had  been  procured,  he  looked  just  as 
men  do  when  recounting  a  good  day's  sport,  lie  went 
on  to  say,  tliat  they  heUl  the  two  ends  of  the  tangled 
Bkein— the  date  of  tlu>  lirst  letter  from  Penrith,  and  that 
of  the  last  from  Jleidelberg — strange,  he  said,  liow  men 


EYE-WITNESS  IS   BETTER  THAN   HEARSAY.      135 

do  keep  proofs  against  themselves ;  it's  as  if  the  father 
of  crimes  prompted  them  to  their  own  undoing.  'JIad 
Mr.  Bouvcrie  destroyed  that  bit  of  paper,  I  don't  see  how 
we  were  to  have  traced  out  the  marriage  between  an 
Edward  Brooke  and  a  Felicia  lieaphy.  The  first  letter 
was  evidently  one  from  a  bride,  and.  with  that  as  a  clue, 
we  found  the  register  of  a  marriage  at  tlic  parish  church 
of  Penrith  between  two  persons  of  those  names,  repre- 
sented as  bachelor  and  spinster,  The  clergyman  who 
solemnized  the  marriage  was  dead  and  so  were  the  clerk 
and  the  other  witness.  But  through  the  day-books  of  a 
grocer  for  the  same  year  as  tlie  marriage,  we  discovered 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brooke  had  lodged  in  Penrith.  The 
landlady  had  also  died  in  the  interim,  but  her  daughter 
remcmljercd  hearing  her  mother  talk  about  the  runaway 
couple  who  had  been  married  first  at  Gretna,  and  then 
afterwards  by  banns  at  Penrith.'  " 

"An  elopement!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greatorex.  "I  was 
not  so  far  wrong,  you  see,  when  I  said  there  was  always 
a  fault  somcAvhere  in  misfortune." 

"  Louisa,  for  heaven's  sake,"  said  her  mother  ;  "  do  you 
understand  the  spirit  of  the  gospel  you  read  so  dili- 
gently ?  Your  proposition  would  lead  to  some  strange 
results." 

"  The  imprudence  of  a  young  girl,"  observed  Mr.  Great- 
orex, "  (and  admitting  Mrs.  Brown  to  be  the  heroine  of 
Mr.  Twyford's  story,  she  must  have  been  very  young  at 
that  date,)  can  scarcely  deserve  so  harsh  a  sentence  as 
yours,  Louisa.  Think  also  how  many  who  have  been 
highly  esteemed  members  of  society,  committed  the  same 
error  at  the  beginning  of  their  career.  However,  let  me 
finish  what  little  more  I  have  to  say.  The  daughter  of 
the  landlady  and  the  son  of  the  defunct  grocer,  believed 
that  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  sixteen  years,  they  could 
still  identify  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brooke,  and  agreed  to  appear 
as  witnesses  whenever  called  upon.  In  the  meantime,  an 
agent  had  been  dispatched  to  Heidelberg  (from  whence 
you  recollect  the  letter  marked  '■iunnediate"  was  dated), 
and  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  furnished  villa  that 
had  been  tenanted  for  a  twelvemonth  by  a  family  of  the 
name  of  Brooke.  The  agent  managed  to  see  and  satisfy 
iiimself  that  Mrs.  Brooke  must  be  the  original  of  the 


136  SKIRMISHING. 

miniature.  Mr.  Brooke  was  not  then  at  the  villa.  There 
appeared  to  be  no  mystery  about  the  Brookes — the  trades- 
people, as  their  bills  were  regularly  paid,  entertained  no 
suspicions  against  their  respectability.  However,  Twy- 
ford  and  the  police  considered  that  they  had  sufficient 
grounds  to  form  a  strong  presumption  that  Bouverie  and 
Brooke  were  one  and  the  same,  and  they  obtained  a  war- 
rant for  Mr.  Bouverie's  apprehension.  The  same  agent 
returned  to  Heidelberg  to  subpoena  Mrs.  Brooke  and 
others,  as  witnesses  to  identify  Mr.  Bouverie.  but  between 
the  agent's  first  and  second  visit,  Mrs.  Brooke  had  given 
up  the  villa,  and  she  and  her  servants  had  gone  no  one 
knew  whither.  She  was  tracked  as  far  as  Frankfort,  and 
there  they  lost  all  trace  of  her. 

"  The  witnesses  from  Penrith,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, could  not  swear  to  Mr.  Bouverie's  identity  with 
Mr.  Brooke — the  grocer's  son  said  the  man  he  remem- 
bered was  half  a  head  taller  than  Mr.  Bouverie,  the  Ger- 
mans could  not  agree  as  to  Mr.  Brooke's  complexion. 
The  one  said  he  was  dark,  the  other  fair.  There  was  the 
set-olT  against  these  discrepancies  of  testimony,  in  the 
similarity  between  the  usual  writing  of  the  accused,  and 
that  of  the  signature  in  the  Penrith  church  register,  and 
the  facts  of  the  possession  of  the  miniature  and  the  first 
letter.  The  magistrate  refused  to  consider  these  as  de- 
posits left  by  any  ]'>dward  Brooke,  and  Mr.  Bouverie  was 
committed  for  trial  at  the  ensuing  Michaelmas  term  ;  but 
the  case  was  adjourned  to  January,  that  is  ne.xt  month, 
to  give  the  prosecution  time  to  hunt  up  Mrs.  Brooke. 
Twyford  ended  by  saying,  he  was  heginning  to  shake  in 
his  shoes,  when  Broadwood  so  providentially  fell  in  with 
Mrs.  Brown  here  and  sup]>lie(l  the  missing  link." 

"God  bless  me  I"  exclainuMl  Mrs.  Lescrimiere,  "it  puts 
me  out  of  all  patience  to  hear  the  use  or  rather  abuse  of 
that  word  providential.  Your  lawyer  was  nearer  right 
when  lie  attributed  such  discoveries  to  diabolical  malig- 
nity. I  think  it  is  rather  hard,  sup|)osiiig  Mrs.  Brown  to 
be  Mr.  JJouverie's  victim,  they  should  insist  on  her 
coming  forward  to  expose  her  own  misfortune.  I  think 
she  is  f|uite  right  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  by  any  mean.s 
short  of  suicide." 

"You  forget  the  cause  of  justice,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex 


EYE-WITNESS  IS   BETTER   Til  AN   HEARSAY.      137 

■'  Injustice  I  call  it,"  said  the  old  lady,"  asking  a  woman 
in  a  manner  to  criminate  hersell" — to  hold  up  a  picture  of 
her  agony  to  the  public,  and  all  to  gratify  another 
woman's  pique.  If  it  were  to  re-establish  a  fair  fame,  d 
la  bonne  heure  ;  my  dear  soul !  talk  of  law  as  much  as 
you  like — l)ut  not  of  justice — ^justice  belongs  to  a  diviner 
tribunal  than  an  eartlily  one." 

"  Her  disappearing  so  opportunely  tells  vei-y  much 
against  Mrs.  Jirown,"  observed  Mrs.  Greatorex,  "and  I 
confess  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  believe  that  any  woman 
can  have  been  deceived  for  sixteen  or  seventeen  years." 

"Yet  Mrs.  Bouverie  was,"  answered  Mrs.  Lescrimifere, 
quickly;  "and  sharp  as  she  has  since  shown  herself,  you 
make  no  difhculty  as  to  her." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  this  remark,  and 
said, 

"Did  Mr.  Twyford  say  nothing  about  the  boy?" 

"Well,  lie  knew  there  was  a  child,  but  he  had  fancied 
it  was  a  girl." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  sat  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  then  said, 

"  It's  a  queer  mess  altogether,  but  what  is  going  to  be 
done  next?" 

"Mrs.  Brown  is  to  receive  a  subpoena  to-morrow.  It 
was  to  be  quite  sure  of  the  name  she  now  goes  by,  that 
])rincipally  brought  Twyford  to  Eden.  He  must  employ 
the  Z police,  it  seems,  in  the  matter." 

"  She  will  never  go,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere.  "  I  would 
not  in  her  place." 

"  I  imagine  there  must  be  some  way  of  c©mpelling  a 
reluctant  witness  to  appear,"  said  the  rector,  "  that  is,  if 
you  once  catch  your  hare." 

"You  may  take  a  horse  to  the  water,  but  you  can't 
force  him  to  drink,"  returned  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  pugna- 
ciously; "if  she  ever  cared  for  the  man,  she  won't  speak 
against  him,  take  my  word  for  it — women  are  great  fools, 
we  all  know." 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  lawyer,"  returned  the  rector, 
laughing  at  the  old  lady's  admissions  in  the  Iicat  of  argu- 
ment, she,  who  at  other  times  defended  with  such  vehe- 
mence the  superiority  of  w'omen — "  I  am  not  much  of  a 
lawyer,  but  I  know  of  cases,  in  which  the  witness  refusing 
to  answer  before  a  judge  or  magistrate  may  be  committed 

12* 


138  SKIRMISHING. 

to  prison  for  contempt,  and  the  imprisonment  may  be 
continued  at  the  discretion  of  the  judge  until  the  witness 
yields." 

"  Then  I  would  stay  there,  till  I  died,  before  I  yielded," 
said  Mrs.  Lescriniifere. 

"  Mamma!"  here  interrupted  Carry's  voice. 

"Carry!"  exclaimed  father  and  mother  in  a  breath; 
"how  came  you  here ?" 

"Anne  sent  me  to  tell  mamma,  that  dinner  was  go- 
ing in." 

"Why  didn't  you  speak  before  ?" 

"  I  was  waiting  for  papa  and  grandmamma  to  be  done 
talking." 

None  of  them  liked  to  ask  her  how  much  she  had 
heard  and  understood ;  whatever  it  was,  it  could  not  be 
helped  now. 


CIIAFTER  XX. 

ILL   NEWS   TRAVELS   APACE 


DINNER  was  unusually  silent ;  the  rector  was  exactly 
as  James  had  described  it,  awfully  put  out — Mrs. 
Greatorex  too  engrossed  by  what  she  bad  so  recently 
licard  and  some  ]irivate  speculations  of  her  own,  to  be 
inclined  to  talk  of  anything  but  Mrs.  Brown's  story,  and 
so  all  the  keeping  up  of  appearances  before  the  servants 
was  left  to  Mrs.  Lescrimifcre.  She  talked  to  INlaud,  who 
us  yet  knew  notliing  of  what  had  occurred. 

Charlie's  first  question  at  dessert  was,  "What  did  that 
queer  old  fellow  want  with  you,  i)apa?' 

"He  came  on  business." 

"'J'cll  us,  mother,  do,"  whispered  Charlie,  laying  bia 
handsome  head  on  his  mother's  arm. 

"  Really,  on  business,  child." 

"Yes,  papa  said  tliat,  but  what  business?" 
'  IJoys  and  girls  simuld  not  be  curious." 

"  Should  grown  ])eople  V" 

"Noii.sense,  Cluirlie,  you  must  learn  patience." 

"  lie  quiet,  Charles,"  said  the  rector. 


ILL   NEWS  TRAVELS   APACE.  139 

When  papa  callod  him  Charles,  the  boy  knew  he  must 
obey,  just  as  mamma  did  when  she  heard  the  ominous 
"my  dear." 

As  they  wore  going  into  the  drawing-room,  Escott  came 
in,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grcatorex  took  him  and  Maud  into 
the  library,  that  they  might  be  made  acquainted  with 
what  had  happened,  without  danger  of  the  children's 
sharp  cars,  hearing  that  which  was  not  intended  for  them. 
Mrs.  Lescrimiere  remained  in  the  drawing-room  to  read 
her  paper ;  Charlie,  Carry  and  Willie  were  seated  as 
usual  round  the  centre  table. 

Presently  Mrs.  Lcscrimifere  was  roused  from  a  deeply 
interesting  article  on  foreign  policy,  by  a  hubbub  among 
the  children,  and  Carry  came  to  her  saying, 

"  Grandmamma,  may  I  ask  you  a  question  ?" 

"  To  be  sure." 

"Are  Mrs.  Brown  and  George  wicked  people  ?"  Carry's 
face  was  a  deep  red  as  she  put  her  question. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  can  have  put  such  an  idea  into 
your  head  ?" 

"  Charlie  says  they  are  going  to  be  taken  up,  and  that 
only  bad  people  are  put  in  prison." 

"  I  don't  know  where  Charlie  got  his  information,  my 
dear,  but  he  is  not  right  in  what  he  supposes." 

"  I  told  hiin,  grandmamma,  I  heard  papa  saying  Mrs. 
Brown  was  to  get  a  summons  to-morrow,  and  Charlie  said 
he  knew  that  meant  the  police  taking  up  a  person.  Jim 
Stiles  got  a  summons  for  stealing  Mr.  Earle's  apples,  and 
was  put  in  prison." 

"Sometimes  a  summons  does  end  in  carrying  people  to 
prison.  Carry — but  often  is  only  a  way  of  asking  some  one 
to  give  information  about  a  person  that  is  suspected  of 
having  done  wrong,  do  you  understand  ?  I  might  have 
been  summoned  to  tell  of  Jim  Stiles  if  I  had  seen  him 
actually  taking  the  apples — Mrs.  Brown  is  wanted  to  tell 
something  she  knows." 

"  Then  why  did  papa  say,  she  might  be  put  in  prison?" 

"  Because  poor  Mrs.  Bro\\ni  does  not  wish  to  tell  tales 
of  some  one  she  cares  about.  You  wouldn't  like  to  tell 
anything  that  would  have  grandmamma  or  papa  dread- 
fully punished,  would  you?  You  would  rather  go  to 
prison  yourself,  1  am  sure." 


140  SKIRMISHING. 

The  little  girl's  lips  quivered  at  the  mere  possibility  of 
sucli  terrible  coiitiugencies. 

"  Come  here,  boys,"  continued  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  "  and 
I  will  tell  you  all  a  story  of  bow  a  good  woman  was  put 
iu  prison  for  doing  a  kind  action." 

The  children  seated  themselves  on  footstools  in  a  semi- 
circle before  their  grandmother,  and  prepared  for  that 
supremest  enjoyment  of  child-life — the  being  told  a 
story. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  girl  as  young  as  Carry,"  began 
Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  "  my  mother  wanted  to  go  to  Paris  to 
join  my  father  who  had  been  obliged  to  stop  there." 

'•  Why  ?"  asked  Charlie. 

"  Because  the  emperor  ordered  him  to  do  so — for  you 
all  know  my  father  was  a  Frenchman — and  it  was  very 
difficult  for  ns  to  go  to  him,  for  the  same  emperor  who 
would  not  let  hun  come  to  England,  would  not  let  the 
English  go  to  France." 

"  The  English  licked  the  French  though,"  again  inter- 
rupted Charlie. 

"I  sliall  not  go  on,"  said  Mrs.  licscrimifere,  "if  30U 
stop  me  again." 

"  Charlie,  be  quiet,  do"  came  from  Carry  and  AVillie. 

"It  was  very  difficult  then,"  continued  grandmamma, 
"for  lis  to  pet  to  Paris — we  went  in  a  smuggling  vessel 
first  to  Holland,  and  one  of  our  fellow-passengers  was 
a  beautiful  lady." 

"  Just  like  Mrs.  Brown  I  daresay,"  observed  Carry  in 
an  aside. 

"  This  lady  called  herself  Afadamc  (iirard — we  did  not 
know  her  real  name  for  a  long  time.  Well,  she  contided 
to  my  motlier  that  she  was  carrying  letters  and  money  to 
Prince  Pulignac,  and  this  Prince  was  a  great  friend  of 
tlic  Bourbons,  and  an  enemy  to  Napoleon.  Madame 
Girard  asked  my  mother  to  help  her  to  hide  some  of  the 
letters,  and  my  mother  said  I  was  such  a  brave  girl,  that 
I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  carry  one — and  so  they  put  it  into 
the  foot  of  tine  of  my  stockings  the  morning  we  landed." 

"  And  what  would  those  bad  French  have  done  to  you, 
grandmamma,  if  they  liad  found  you  out  ?" 

"  Put  my  mother  and  myself  in  i)rison,"  was  the  reply 

Carry  gave  a  nod  full  of  meaning  to  Charlie. 


ILL   NEWS  TRAVELS   APACE.  141 

"  Madame  Girard  did  not  travel  with  us,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Lescrimiferc,  "  but  she  had  my  father's  directions  in  Paris, 
and  she  was  to  come  and  fetch  her  letters  as  soon  as  she 
knew  we  were  there.  Wc  got  to  Boulogne  very  well — 
nobody  troubled  us  on  the  road — but  when  we  arrived 
there,  a  person  came  and  told  my  mother  she  must  go  to 
the  Hotel  de  Villc — the  town-hall — and  I  was  left  all 
alone  at  the  hotel.  I  had  heard  that  many  ladies  and 
gentlemen  had  been  called  avay  just  as  my  mother  had 
been — and  that  they  had  never  come  back,  and  I  sat 
looking  out  of  a  window  and  thinking  what  I  would  do, 
if  my  mother  didn't  come  back  and  if  gendarmes  were  to 
take  me  to  prison,  and  1  wondered  if  I  should  be  brave 
enough  not  to  tell  Madame  Girard's  secret.  I  thought  I 
would  rather  die  than  be  so  cowardly — after  all  one  can 
only  die  once.  By-and-by  my  mother  returned,  she  was 
very  pale — all  she  told  me  then  was,  that  we  must  stay  at 
Boulogne  for  two  days.  At  night,  she  whispered  to  me, 
.keeping  her  head  and  mine  under  the  bed-clothes,  that  the 
police  took  her  for  some  one  else,  and  they  wouldn't  let 
her  go,  till  they  had  heard  from  Paris.  She  bid  me  never 
ask  questions,  nor  talk  of  our  affairs,  for  that  almost 
every  servant  in  the  hotel  was  a  government  spy.  On  the 
third  day  she  went  away  again  ;  but  this  time  it  was  all 
right,  my  father  had  interest  with  some  great  people  and 
we  were  allowed  to  set  off  for  Paris." 

"  And  were  you  always  wearing  the  same  stockings  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  had  the  letter  always  in  one  of  my  stock- 
ings. Madame  Girard  came  to  see  us  immediately  after 
we  reached  Paris — and  we  gave  her  the  letters  we  had 
smuggled  for  her.  She  told  us  where  she  lived,  but  said 
it  would  perhaps  be  better  if  we  did  not  visit  one  another. 
She  kissed  me,  thanked  my  mother,  and  bid  us  good-by. 

"  Well,  it  might  have  been  a  week  after,  there  came  a 
great  ring  at  our  house  bell,  and  a  man  wlio  looked  like 
a  giant  to  me,  came  into  the  room  where  my  motlier  was 
sitting.  She  was  at  that  moment  hearing  my  lessons. 
'  You  are  Madame  I^ouise  de  Louricourt,  I  believe  ?'  were 
his  first  words  to  my  mother.  My  father's  brother  was  in 
the  room  also;  he  turned  pale,  for  he  believed  she  was 
going  to  be  arrested.  The  tall  stranger  begged  to  s])eak 
to  her  alone,  and  she,  I  see  her  now,  quite  calmly  nodded 


142  SKIRMISHING. 

to  my  uncle  and  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  go — -which  we 
did.  Presently  she  came  to  my  father's  apartment  where 
we  were  with  him,  and  told  us  it  was  not  an  agent  de 
police — I  mean  not  a  policeman,  but  a  friend  of  Madame 
Girard,  and  he  had  come  to  ask  my  mother  to  try  and 
warn  Madame  Girard  that  she  was  in  danger,  and  had 
better  get  out  of  Paris  and  indeed  of  France  as  fast  as 
possible. 

"  '  And  how  are  you  to  manage  this,  Louise  V  said  my 
father  to  my  mother.  '  To  begin  with,  I  shall  not  allow 
you  to  go  yourself — you  are  already  suspected  enough.' 
'No,'  answered  my  mother,  'to  go  myself  would  be 
running  useless  risks.  I  thought  of  sending  Mathilde.' 
meannig  me,  explained  Mrs.  Lescrimifere.  '  Can  you,  and 
will  you,  my  little  girl  ?'  asked  my  father,  drawing  me  to 
his  knee.  '  There  will  be  no  danger  to  a  child,  and  if 
you  have  courage  to  run  in  the  dusk  to  Madame  Girard 
you  may  save  the  poor  lady  from  a  prison.' 

"  I  was  very  proud  to  be  trusted — and  said  I  would 
go.  So  when  it  was  nearly  dark,  my  mother  put  me  on 
my  bonnet  and  my  cloak,  gave  me  the  message  to  Madame 
Girard.  making  me  repeat  it  several  times,  so  as  to  be 
sure  I  should  remember  it,  and  then  my  father  took  his 
hat,  and  went  down  stairs  with  me  and  tlirough  the  front 
court,  that  the  conciferge  might  not  think  it  strange  I 
should  go  out  alone.  Then  he  left  me  at  the  corner  of 
our  street,  telling  nic  which  way  I  was  to  turn.  Madame 
Girard  did  not  live  far  from  us.  I  reached  her  safely — 
but  there  was  a  visitor  with  her.  I  said  my  mother  had 
sent  me  to  see  her  and  sat  down  quietly  by  her  side.  The 
visitor  did  not  speak  to  me,  but  1  caught  his  eye  on  me 
every  time  I  looked  up.  Madame  Girard  laughed  and 
talked  a  great  deal  with  him,  and  took  no  notice  or  very 
little  of  me,  and  I  was  beginning  to  be  frightened  that  I 
should  have  to  go  home  without  giving  her  my  message, 
when  she  turned  round  and  saiil  slie  would  take  me  to 
play  with  a  neighbor's  little  girl,  till  my  mother  came  to 
fetch  mc.  I  thouglit  she  was  making  a  pretence,  you 
know,  so  I  did  not  say  my  mother  was  not  coramg.  As 
soon  a.s  we  were  alone,  she  asked  mo  in  (piite  a  whisper 
what  it  was,  and  1  whispered  back  the  words  my  mother 
had  loid  mc.   She  gave  a  great  sigh  and  said—'  Go  home 


ILL   NEWS   TRAVELS   APACE.  143 

and  tell  your  motlicr  that  I  am  sure  the  man  you  saw  in 
my  salon  is  a  police  agent — and  if  she  hears  no  more  of 
me,  she  may  believe  I  am  in  prison.' " 

"  And  was  she  put  in  prison,  gradmamma  ?"  burst  from 
the  three  children. 

"  Yes,  and  none  of  her  friends  allowed  to  see  or  even 
speak  through  a  grating  to  her.  She  might  have  had 
her  liberty  if  she  would  have  told  the  names  of  those  who 
had  sent  the  letters  and  the  money  to  the  prince." 

"  And  did  she  never  get  out  ?"  asked  Charlie. 

"  Not  for  a  very  long  while,  and  then  her  health  was  so 
broken,  she  very  soon  died." 

Grandmamma  did  not  point  the  moral  of  her  tale,  but 
left  it  to  work  its  o^vn  way. 

That  night.  Carry,  instead  of  falling  asleep  as  soon  as 
her  head  was  on  the  pillow,lay  awake,  troubled  by  one 
great  longing  to  do  as  grandmamma  had  done  by  the 
French  lady,  to  go  and  warn  poor  Mrs.  Brown,  that  she 
was  to  be  taken  up  next  day.  Her  fancy  pictured  the 
beautiful  lady  who  had  always  been  so  kind  to  her,  in  a 
shocking  prison  with  chains  on.  Carry  remembered 
having  seen  a  man  who  had  just  come  out  of  jail,  and  he 
had  had  a  red  mark  all  round  his  head ;  it  was  only  the 
mark  of  a  tight  hat,  but  Carry  had  supposed  it  to  be  that 
of  some  iron  ring  to  which  he  had  been  fastened ;  this 
image  became  more  vivid  and  distressing  every  moment. 
And  then  Dodge — Carry  loved  Dodge  as  truly  and  en- 
tirely as  if  she  had  been  twenty  instead  of  eleven ;  for  her 
he  was  the  most  perfect  of  boys,  accomplished,  handsome, 
above  all,  unhappy.  Quite  a  woman  in  that,  this  last 
trait  was  the  most  attractive  of  all.  Carry's  heart 
swelled  at  the  picture  she  drew  for  herself  of  George's 
grief  and  desolation  at  his  mother's  being  taken  to  prison. 
What  was  to  become  of  Dodge  without  a  mother,  it  was  ap- 
palling to  think  of;  what  a  courageous  little  girl  her 
grandmamma  had  been  to  go  about  a  great  town  by  her- 
self, streets  had  lamps  to  be  sure,  but  the  moon  was  so 
bright  to-night.  Carry  had  remarked  it  as  she  came  up  to 
bed — it  was  almost  as  bright  as  day. 

A  great  resolution  was  maturing  in  Carry's  mind,  a 
heoric  resolution  if  her  age  and  sex  be  considered.  She 
got  out  of  bed,   huddling  on  her  clothes  as  best  she 


144  SKIRMISHING. 

might ;  she  put  on  her  cloak  and  hat,  and  then  she  knelt 
down  to  say  a  prayer,  to  beg  God  to  spread  his  wings 
over  her,  tliis  image  suggested  by  the  print  of  the  guar- 
dian angel  with  the  outstretched  sheltering  wings  which 
hung  opposite  to  Carry's  bed. 

"  There  are  no  wild  beasts  in  England,  I  know,"  solilo- 
quized the  little  girl  as  she  crept  down  the  back  stairs. 
No  one  in  the  passages,  the  servants  were  at  supper,  and 
she  could  hear  INIaud  playing  Mozart.  Out  into  the 
backyard,  here  Hector,  the  big  black  Newfoundland  left 
loose  at  night,  nearly  knocked  her  over  by  uncouth 
caresses.  As  soon  as  Carry  opened  the  gate  Hector 
dashed  through,  and  went  leaping  and  frolickinp'  :'long 
the  road.  "  Perhaps  God  has  sent  him  to  take  care  of 
me.  I  never  thought  pf  him  myself,"  said  the  little  girl. 

AVhile  Carry  was  in  the  road  that  skirted  the  rectory 
garden,  she  was  not  frightened  ;  it  was  difi'eront  when  she 
neared  the  old  yew-trees,  which  even  in  the  day  made  all 
about  them  gloomy — the  grave-stones,  too,  showed  so 
ghastly.  "What  was  that  dreadful  black  thing  jumping 
in  the  churchyard  ?  she  turned  hot,  then  cold,  and  beads 
of  moisture  stood  on  her  brow,  the  black  thing  was  com- 
ing towards  her — ah  ! — why,  it  was  only  Hector. 

The  church  was  passed  and  Carry  was  in  the  avenue 
of  ash-trees,  which  runs  across  the  I.iea.  Here  she  be- 
gan to  sing  to  herself  in  a  low  voice  one  of  the  Sunday 
hymns ;  her  voice  was  not  very  steady — there  were  so 
many  sounds  about,- so  many  more  than  in  the  day.  The 
mere  crack  of  a  branch  or  a  twirl  along  her  path  of  a 
dried  leal",  or  mutter  of  wind  anuuig  the  hills,  were  soimds 
of  menace  and  dread  to  the  little  heroine.  Her  heart 
grew  fuller  and  fuller,  her  courage  waxed  fainter  and 
fainter,  but  she  persevered  ;  at  last  she  saw  the  white 
palings  of  the  Hatch  garden — then  she  ran,  ran  until  she 
stopped  breathless  at  the  door  and  rang  the  l)ell  in  her 
excitement,  she  did  not  know,  how  violently.  It  brought 
Mrs.  IJrown,  George,  Hans,  all  into  Die  hall. 

"Don't  open  the  door,  Hans,"  cried  the  lady,  turning 
the  colour  of  ashes.     "Ask  first  who  is  there." 

The  door  was  always  kept  locked  and  the  chain  up. 
Hans  luid  therefore  to  unlock  it;  and  tiien,  without  re 
moving  the  chain  he  opened  the  door  about  two  inches 


ILL   NEWS  TRAVELS   APACE.  •  145 

and  showing  the  point  of  his  long  nose,  asked  in  English 
that  sounded  like  German, 

"  Who  is  there  ?" 

"It  is  only  I,  Mr.  Hans,"  said  a  child's  voice;  "pray 
let  nie  in." 

"  Gott  im  Hinimel !"  cried  the  old  man,  "  it  is  de  Pfar- 
rer's  little  tochtcr,"  and  he  instantly  undid  the  chain,  and 
almost  lifted  Carry  into  the  hall.  "  Was  is  de  niatt'r, 
poor  Kind  ?" 

"  Oh  !  JNlrs.  Brown,"  and  here  Carry's  fortitude  gave 
way  and  she  began  most  unheroically  to  cry. 

''  I\Iy  dear  little  friend,  come  and  tell  me  what  has 
brought  you  here  to-ni^ht,"  and  Mrs.  Brown  and  George 
each  taking  one  of  her  hands  led  Carry  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

"A  glass  of  orange-flow'r  wat'r  do  her  good,"  said 
Hans,  "  poor  little  FrJiulein." 

"She  is  shaking  with  cold,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  rubbing 
the  frozen  hands. 

"  Come,  Carry,  and  sit  down  on  the  fender  stool  with 
me,"  said  George,  and  he  drew  her  down  beside  him. 
"  Now,  off  with  the  hat  and  let's  hear  the  melancholy 
story." 

"  Oh !  Dodge,  Dodge,"  and  her  arms  were  round  his 
neck,  her  words  broken  by  sobs ;  "  they  are  coming  to 
take  your  mamma  to  prison,  an  old  man  came  and  told 
papa  so  to-day — and  oh!  pray,  Mrs.  Brown,  you  must 
make  haste  and  go  away — they  are  coming  to-morrow." 

George  started  to  his  feet,  Mrs.  Brown  laid  her  finger 
on  her  lips. 

"  And  you  came  out  alone  at  night  without  any  one 
sending  you  to  tell  me  this?"  asked  Mrs.  Brown,  kneeling 
down  by  the  trembling  child. 

"  Yes,"  and  Carry  laid  her  own  face  against  the  pale 
beautiful  one  gazing  at  her  so  earnestly.  "  Grandmanuna 
was  braver  than  me  once." 

"God  bless  her  and  you.  Carry.  God  make  you  like 
her,  dear  Carry,  and  then  children  will  rise  up  and  call 
you  blessed  also." 

"  Trinken  my  little  tear,"  urged  Hans,  who  had  brought 
her  a  glass  of  eau  de  fleur  d'orangc. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  Carry,  "  they  will  be  frightened 

13 


146  SKIRMISHING. 

if  they  miss  me.  Oh  !  I  don't  know  what  will  you  do.  I 
am  so  sorry,"  and  the  tears  began  again  to  roll  over  her 
cheeks.     "  I  can't  bear  Dodge  to  go  away,  indeed  I  can't." 

"Poor  angel !"  said  Mrs.  BroM^n  softly;  "  you  must  go 
home,  darling,  and  Hans  shall  go  with  you." 

"  Will  you  be  safe  without  him  ?"  asked  Carry. 

"  He  won't  be  long,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  "  and  now,  dear 
child,  you  will  go  away  I  am  sure,  for  you  know  I  must 
have  a  good  deal  to  do."  Mrs.  BroM'n  kissed  her  often ; 
the  child  clung  in  agony  to  Dodge,  who  rather  j^ermitted 
than  returned  her  parting  embrace.  Indeed  ever  since 
Carry  had  told  her  errand,  he  had  remained  like  one 
petrified, — taking  no  part  in  the  inquiries — not  even  bid- 
ding farewell  to  his  little  loving  friend. 

Hans  made  Carry  run  almost  all  the  way  home,  leaving 
her  at  the  beginning  of  the  rectory  wall.  As  none  of  the 
doors  were  ever  locked  until  the  rector  did  so  himself, 
the  last  thing  before  going  to  his  bed.  Carry  had  no 
diflSculty  in  gaining  admittance  by  the  back  gate  and 
door.  When  she  went  out,  the  servants  were  at  supper; 
when  she  returned  they  were  in  the  drawing-room  at 
prayers — so  she  easily  slipped  up  unobserved  to  her  room. 

She  was  scarcely  again  in  bed,  before  her  mother  came 
in,  on  her  nightly  round  to  see  all  her  children.  Carry 
had  buried  her  head  in  her  ])illow;  she  could  not  have 
met  her  mother's  eye  without  confessing  what  she  had 
done. 

"  Dear  me  !  how  untidy  that  Mary  is,"  observed  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  "leaving  all  the  child's  clothes  unfolded." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TUK    WOUND    IS    CHEAT,  BECAUSE    IT    IS    SO    SMALL. 

ABOUT  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  bell  rang  for 
morning  prayers  there  was  a  little  tap  at  I^fr.  Great- 
orex's  private  study  door,  and  Carry  putting  in  her  head 
asked, 
"May  I  come  in,  papa?" 
"  Yes,  my  dear ;  why,  little  woman,  what  is  the  mat- 


THE    WOUND   IS   GREAT,  BECAUSE    SO    SMALL.     141 

ter  ?"  Carry  was  pale,  heavy-eyed,  and  shaking  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  Oh  I  papa "  and  she  -went  and  laid  her  head  on 

his  breast,  "  don't  be  angry  with  me.  I  went  and  told 
Mrs.  Brown  to  go  away." 

"No;  did  you  really,  my  darling?"  said  the  rector, 
looking  quite  pleased  and  speaking  in  a  most  satisfied 
voice.     "  Why,  when  did  you  manage  that  ?" 

"  Last  night,  papa.  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  for  think- 
ing of  poor  Uodge  if  they  took  away  his  mother,  so  I  got 
up  and  dressed,  and  ran  there."  At  the  recollection  of 
the  over-night's  terrors  and  sorrows  Carry's  voice  died 
away  in  a  broken  whisper. 

"  There,  there,  don't  cry,  you  did  it  for  the  best.  But 
I  say,  Carry,  what  put  it  into  your  head  to  be  in  such  a 
hurry  ?" 

"  I  heard  what  you  and  grandmamma  said  about  taking 
up  Mrs.  Brown,  pupa,  and  Charlie  said  she  was  to  be  put 
in  prison — and  oh  !  papa,  I  am  so  sorry  .  .  ."  Then  in 
a  very  tremulous  whisper,  she  added,  "  Dodge  is  to  write 
to  me,  Mrs.  Brown  promised." 

Mr.  Grcatorex  thought  his  little  girl  was  fretting  lest 
she  had  done  wrong,  so  waving  that  rather  intricate  ques- 
tion, he  said  rather  in  the  tone  of  a  fellow  conspirator — 

"  Do  you  think  they  can  have  got  away,  Carry  ?" 

"  I  have  not  heard  any  carriage  pass.  Oh  !  papa,  do 
you  think  mamma  will  be  angry  with  me  ?"  Carry 
knew  without  having  been  told  that  mamma  was  not 
inclined  to  be  so  kind  to  Mrs.  Brown  as  papa  was. 

"  No,  no,  mamma  won't  be  angry."  Before  he  had  time 
to  say  more,  Charlie's  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall  crying 
out, 

"  Where's  papa  ?" 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  asked  the  rector,  appearing  in 
the  passage." 

"  Here's  a  go,"  shouted  master  Charlie — "  the  Browns 
are  off — no  one  left  in  the  house  but  Hans,  and  he 
looked  as  fierce  as  an  old  white  rat,  I  can  tell  you,  when 
I  went  and  asked  for  Dodge." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex,  "  it's  no  business 
of  ours  what  the  Browns  do,  or  where  they  go — for  my 
part  I  would  rather  not  know."    The  rector  spoke  so  dis- 


148  SKIRMISHING 

tinctly  that  the  whole  household  now  gathering  together 
'or  prayers  heard  every  word  he  said. 

"They  got  warning,  you  may  depend  on  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Oreatorex,  after  the  servants  had  left  the  room,  and  her 
eyes  glanced  suspiciously  at  Mrs.  Lescrimifere. 

Carry  went  up  to  her  mother  and  said — 

"  Mamma,  I  told  Mrs.  Brown  and  not  grandmamma." 

"  You— child— when  ?" 

Mr.  Greatorex  came  to  the  assistance  of  the  abashed 
little  heroine.  After  hearing  the  explanation,  Mrs.  Great- 
orex said  rather  severely, 

"Whenever  you  wish  to  conceal  from  your  parents 
■what  you  are  going  to  do,  you  may  be  sure  you  are 
wrong.  I  trust  you  will  never  play  such  a  trick  again 
— it's  very  well  nothing  happened  to  you — "  her  mother's 
manner  made  Carry  wince,  made  her  feel  as  if  she  had 
been  absurd  instead  of  heroic. 

"  I  believe  I  must  share  in  Carry's  blame,"  said  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere.  "  I  dare  say  a  story  I  told  the  children  last 
evening  put  it  into  her  head  to  go  to  the  Hatch." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  did  not  say  to  her  mother  what  she  did 
afterwards  to  her  husband,  that  she  had  been  sure  that 
her  mother  in  one  way  or  other  had  been  the  instigator 
of  Carry's  adventure. 

"  Unconsciously  perhaps,  unconsciously,  my  dear,"  said 
the  rector,  "your  mother  is  not  one,  to  put  on  another 
person's  shoulders,  what  she  thinks  ought  to  be  done,  and 
could  herself  do." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  began  to  dislike  Mrs.  Brown.  Mother, 
husband,  and  child  all  taking  her  part — no  one  sympa- 
thizing in  her  view  of  the  question — no,  not  even  her 
intended  son-in-law.  Even  he  had  been  more  inclined  to 
pity,  than  censure  INIrs.  Brown  for  her  misfortunes. 
Women,  such  as  Mrs.  (Jreatorex.  wlio  liave  all  their 
lives  walked  in  a  straight  oi)cn  ])ath,  protected  from  all 
ambiguity  by  favouring  circumstances,  are  apt  to  take 
fright  nt,  to  be  suspicions  even  of  any  one  of  their  own 
SOX  whose  position  is  not  so  transparent  as  their  own. 
They  could  pity,  often  befriend  one  who  iiad  been  openly 
criminal;  but  to  act  as  tlic  English  law  commands,  give 
credit  for  innocence  till  guilt  be  proved,  is  actually  be- 
yond  their   power ;    they  shrink    even    from    giving    the 


THE    WOUND   IS   GREAT,  BECAUSE    SO   SMALL.     149 

benefit  of  a  doubt.  Mrs.  Greatorex  had,  in  calling  at  the 
Hatch,  yielded  to  the  influence  of  her  mother  and  hus- 
band ;  but  after  the  first  enthusiasm  created  by  Mrs. 
Brown's  beauty  and  George's  music  had  exhausted  itself, 
Mrs.  Greatorex  returned  to  her  first  belief  in  the  unad- 
visability  of  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Brown. 

Maud's  heart  swelled  with  new-born  joy  when  she  was 
told  that  Mrs.  Brown  had  left  Eden ;  she  had  struggled 
bravely  against  jealously,  but  she  had  scotched  not  killed 
the  green-eyed  monster,  "  Love's  curse."  She  had  the 
self-control  not  to  join  in  any  of  the  depreciatory  remarks 
her  mother  made  to  Escott ;  she  could  go  no  further  than 
silence.  She  could  not  join  in  her  grandmother's  defence 
of  Mrs.  Brown,  or  respond  to  any  appeal  made  in  her 
behalf.  The  girl,  so  lately  a  type  of  happy  tranquillity, 
had  become  a  centre  of  agitation ;  her  faculties  sharpened 
to  a  morbid  extent.  No  alchemist  seeking  for  the  phi- 
losopher's stone  ever  strove  to  penetrate  into  Nature's 
mysteries,  more  perseveringly  than  did  this  young  crea- 
ture into  the  heart  of  her  promised  husband.  Not  a  fall 
of  his  eyelids,  not  a  compression  of  his  lips,  not  a  sylla- 
ble he  uttered,  not  a  gesture  passed  unheeded — not  one, 
but  from  which  she  drew  some  conclusion  which  cut  her 
to  the  quick.  She  was  not  aware  that  to  her  own  pre- 
occupied manner  was  greatly  due  Escott's  continued 
estrangement ;  an  estrangement  they  both  did  their 
utmost  to  conceal  from  those  around  them,  and  so  well 
did  they  succeed  that  her  mother  often  said  to  Maud, 
"Enjoy  the  present,  dear,  they  are  the  golden  days  of 
your  life." 

Maud  could  have  cried  aloud,  so  deep  was  the  pang 
given  by  these  words  so  in  contradiction  to  her  feelings. 
She  had  not  the  resources  of  a  passionate  outbreak,  which 
would  have  helped  most  women  out  of  this  sort  of  armed 
neutrality.  Her  own  violent  sensations  were  so  new  to 
her,  that  she  was  afraid  of  them ;  and  then  the  look  of 
weary  resignation  which  would  come  into  Escott's  face, 
if  she  began  any  allusion  to  his  change  of  manner,  always 
acted  as  a  spell  on  her  words.  In  fact  Escott  dreaded 
explanations ;  it  was  his  theory,  that  the  only  purpose 
they  answer  is,  to  throw  down  the  dyke  which  has  re- 
strained the  floods  of  passion. 

13* 


150  SKIRMISHING. 

Maud  at  last  submitted  to  his  silent  award  that  they 
should  never  talk  of  themselves. 

"  There  is  no  remedy  for  it  but  patience.  Old  Eschylus 
himself  gave  no  other  counsel  by  the  lips  of  his  Chorus  to 
Prometheus  on  the  rock.  Squeeze  all  those  beautiful 
verses  and  reduce  them  to  their  simple  meaning,  and  you 
will  have  as  the  result,  'be  patient.'  Patience  and  cour- 
age, there  is  no  difficulty  out  of  which  one  does  not  find 
an  issue  with  those  two  aids." 

Something  to  this  effect  Maud  one  day  heard  her 
grandmother  saying ;  the  words  were  not  addressed  to 
her,  but  Maud  felt  them  as  so  singularly  apropos  an 
answer  to  her  own  perplexity  how  to  act  with  Escott, 
that  she  received  them  as  an  oracular  message.  Simple 
loving  beings  are  inclined  to  be  fatalists  in  moments  of 
doubt  looking  for  good  or  bad  omens  in  all  around  them, 
even  in  thistle-down.  "  ITc  loves  me  a  little — a  great 
deal,"  whispers  the  country  girl,  as  she  blows  the  light 
seed,  and  is  comforted  when  the  last  pufF  mates  with 
passionately. 

That  gooding  day  will  be  long  remembered  in  Eden  ; 
there  had  not  Ijccn  such  a  siirring  day  among  its  inhabi- 
tants since  that  on  wliich  the  present  rector  brought 
home  his  beautiful  "  furrin  "  lady.  First  there  was  the 
agitation  consequent  on  the  discovery  that  Mrs.  Brown 
and  George  had  left  the  Hatch  during  the  night — run 
away  in  fact.     Secondly,  there  was   the  arrival    of  the 

police  officer  from   Z ,  with   the   summons  for  Mrs. 

I3rown,  a  sufficient  ex])lauation  of  her  flight :  for  note 
well,  every  one  in  the  village  instantaneously  believed  t^ie 
worst  of  Mrs.  Brown,  were  even  wroth  when  any  of  the 
rectory  servants,  better  informed,  declared  she  was  sought 
as  a  witness,  not  as  a  criminal.  People  did  not  go  oil'  in 
the  niglit,  did  they,  unless  tliey  had  something  to  ))e  afraid 
of  for  themselves  ? 

The  general  excitement  reached  its  height  when,  later 
in  the  day,  it  was  found  out  that  Hans  had  also  disap- 
peared. This  last  event  liccame  known  when  one  of  the 
baker'.s  sons  ))roughta  brown  paper  parcel  containing  the 
keys  of  the  Hatch  to  the  rector.  "The  old  German,"- 
said  tlic  boy,  "  had  given  liim  a  penny  to  carry  the  parcel 
to  the  rectory."     Inside  were  a  few   lines   in   crabbed 


THE   WOUND   IS   GREAT,  BECAUSE   SO   SMALL.     151 

German  which  ISradenioipclle  was  called  from  the  school- 
room to  tlcciphcr,  and  which  was  to  the  effect  that  the 
half-year's  rent  for  the  Hatch  had  been  paid  in  advance. 

Mr.  Greatorex  went  at  once  to  the  Hatch  accompanied 
by  Escott  and  his  churchw'arden,  Stephen  Amos,  and 
affixed  his  seal  to  the  different  boxes,  into  which  Hans 
had  packed  several  movables  belonging  to  his  mistress, 
and  also  on  the  wardrobes  and  drawers  which  were  still 
full  of  wearing  apparel. 

Next  morning  all  Eden  was  palpitating  anew,  and  this 
time  it  was  Mith  a  ghost-story.  Young  Earl  protested 
that  when  he  was  returning  home  about  eleven  o'clock 
the  night  before,  as  he  reached  the  bit  of  road  between 
Mr.  Escott's  lodgings  and  the  Hatch,  just  where  two  ash- 
trees  in  opposite  hedges  bent  over  and  joined  their 
branches,  something  fluttered  past  him,  that  it  sounded 
like  large  wings,  that  he  called  out,  and  that  though  the 
moon  was  up  and  he  could  see  fifty  yards  before  and  be- 
hind him,  he  was  ready  to  take  his  Bible  oath,  not  a 
creature,  man  or  beast,  was  visible— that  when  he  got 
near  the  Hatch  he  saw  a  light  in  the  front  of  the  house — 
he  was  sure  it  was  outside  not  inside,  for  it  was  moving 
in  mid-air — he  protested  that  no  living  thing  could  have 
carried  it,  it  spread  and  spread — he  must  have  watched 
it  for  five  minutes — all  on  a  sudden  it  vanished,  and  he 
thought  he  heard  the  same  fluttering  sound,  but  it  was 
far  oif.' 

All  the  elder  women  in  Eden  knew  what  it  was  young 
Earl  had  witnessed — it  was  a  "  shell-light,"  and  it  pre- 
dicted a  death.  The  consternation  was  general  ;  that  of 
the  lad  who  had  had  the  visitation  greatest  of  all.  One 
dame  remembered  that  Mrs.  Stephen  Iloghen  when 
nursing  her  daughter,  having  occasion  to  leave  the  sick- 
room one  night,  had  been  surprised  at  secuig  a  light 
which  spread  before  her,  and  then  passed  away  she  did 
not  know  liow  or  where,  and  very  soon  afterwards  her 
daughter  died.  Another  old  lady  related  how  her  nephew 
when  only  eight  years  old,  as  he  was  coming  home  with 
his  father  who  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill  in  the  field, 
and  was  laid  on  a  mattress  in  a  cart,  had  been  astonished 
at  beholding  a  pale  light  all  over  his  father,  which  lasted 
till  they  got  to  their  own  door,  then  passed  away  across 


152  SKIRMISHING. 

the  house,  and  the  poor  man  died  that  same  night.  The 
boy  had  spoken  of  the  Ught,  wondering  what  it  could  be, 
but  she  had  not  told  him  it  was  a  "  shell  light"  till  he 
was  grown  up. 

Young  Earl's  story  put  the  climax  to  the  agitation 
that  had  reigned  since  Mrs.  Brown's  disappearance. 
Not  an  invalid  in  the  parish  but  felt  worse  that  day,  and 
Mrs.  Greatorex  was  running  from  one  to  the  other  with 
the  cordials  of  her  own  cheerfulness  and  bottles  of  wine. 
There  was  the  old  pair,  Joe  Noble  and  his  wife,  the 
former  over  ninety,  tlae  other  in  her  eighty-ninth  year — 
they  certainly  would  not  have  survived  the  shock  of  the 
appearance  of  the  "shell  light"  had  Mrs.  Greatorex  not 
bolstered  them  up  by  the  promise  of  plum-pudding  on 
Christmas-day,  and  a  bottle  of  old  port.  It  was  touch- 
ing to  hear  the  old  husband  say, — 

"  I  hope  it  will  please  God  to  take  me  first,  I  dunna 
what  I  should  do  without  her." 

The  young  people  of  the  rectory  had  been  also  out  all 
day  on  errands  of  kindness.  As  they  were  returning 
home  l)etween  three  and  four  o'clock,  they  met  Escott. 
He  walked  by  Maud's  side,  taking  from  her  a  bundle  of 
ivy  and  holly  she  was  carrying. 

"  You  look  very  much  fatigued,"  lie  said. 

"Maud's  always  tired  now,"  said  Charlie;  "she  ain't 
half  such  a  girl  as  she  was." 

They  were  passing  the  castle  hill  at  that  moment. 

"What's  that,  Walter?"  whispered  Carry,  in  a  tone  of 
fear. 

"  What's  what  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Something  moving  among  the  trees,"  she  said. 

"  A  sheep  or  a  cow,  I  suppose,"  he  answered.  "  I 
thought  you  had  a  brave  spirit,  Carry,  did  1  not  hear 
something  of  a  little  girl  going  out  all  by  herself  at  night?" 

Carry  did  not  say  any  thing  more,  but  he  felt  that  she 
was  holding  by  his  coat.  Escott  took  leave  of  Maud  at 
the  rectory  gate,  saying, 

"  I  liave  promised  Stephen  to  help  him  this  evening  to 
hang  the  garlands  in  the  church,  so  don't  be  astonished 
if  you  sec  me  again  at  tea-time." 

lie  spoke  clieerfully  with  one  of  his  liright,  beautiful 
smiles,  and  he  could  see  that  Maud  walked  up  the  car 


THE   WOUND   IS   GREAT,  BECAUSE   SO   SMALL.     153 

riage-drive  with  a  very  different  step  from  the  languid, 
dragging  one,  which  he  had  noticed  when  he  overtook 
her. 

No  words  perhaps  could  have  so  touched  Escott  as  the 
sight  of  the  effect  produced  by  his  own  manner.  That 
man  must  have  indeed  a  hard  nature  who  resists  the  evi- 
dence of  the  happiness  he  can  impart.  Certainly  Escott 
could  not,  but  Maud  had  not  divined  that  the  smile, 
which  so  cheered  her,  was  a  forced  one — that  it  M'as  as- 
sumed to  hide  one  of  those  sudden  qualms  which  come 
over  us,  as  in  the  sunniest  hour  a  passing  cloud  warns  us 
that  the  sun  will  not  always  shine. 

Some  resemblance,  fancied  or  not,  with  poor  Charity 
AVood,  over  whom  he  had  not  long  ago  read  the  service 
for  the  dead,  had  made  Escott  feel  as  if  stabbed  to  the 
heart.  Maud's  eye  had  surely  the  same  wistful  inquiring 
expression,  her  mouth  the  same  droop,  her  lips  the  same 
dark  purple  line  betraying  inward  fever.  In  such  mo- 
ments of  panic  we  realize  what  the  world  would  be  to  us 
without  that  creature  whom  we  may  have  been  distrust- 
ing, or  undervaluing,  or  on  whom  we  have,  may-be,  been 
emptying  the  vials  of  our  pent-up  irritation ;  in  plain 
words,  bullying.  A  great  deal  of  bullying  may  be  carried 
on  under  the  shelter  of  quiet  manners,  and  the  show  of 
politeness. 

By  degrees  half-summoned,  half-intruding  themselves, 
came  recollections  of  Maud's  girlish  goodness,  her  girlish 
dependence  on  his  judgment,  her  girlish  fondness, betrayed 
most,  when  most  attempted  to  be  concealed.  His  pride 
said  no,  to  the  inner  voice  of  accusation — but  his  heart 
cried  yes.  "I  believe  I  have  been  a  selfish  brute,"  he 
at  last  exclaimed — he  had  a  comfort  in  calling  himself  by 
a  hard  name.  He  half  turned  to  go  back  to  the  rectory 
and  taking  Maud  to  his  heart,  tell  her  he  considered  him- 
self a  prig  and  a  goose,  for  having  tried  to  hide  from  her 
how  precious  she  was  to  him. 

But  that  shyness  of  demonstration  so  innate  to  his  cha- 
racter, stopped  him,  and  he  walked  on  thinking,  "I  will 
take  the  first  opportunity  of  clearmg  away  the  cloud 
from  between  us." 

How  strange,  that  we  are  more  often  ashamed  of  our 
good  than  of  our  bad  impulses. 


154  SIORMISHING 

Escott  had  by  this  time  reached  the  Hatch  palings, 
when  something  to  his  surprise  he  heard  the  voice  of 
Stephen  Amos  (the  rector's  churchwarden)  raised  in  ex- 
postulation. Raised,  that  is,  as  high  as  comported  with 
tenderness  for  his  lungs,  which  he  persisted,  in  the  face 
of  facts  to  the  contrary,  in  believing  to  be  in  a  very  pre- 
carious state.  The  curate  turned  iii  at  the  gate,  and  saw 
Amos  with  bent  back  talking  in  at  the  front  door  key- 
hole, and  in  his  hands  crossed  behind  him,  several  iron 
tools.  Leaning  against  the  wall  by  his  side  was  the  old 
gun  with  which  the  churchwarden  went  rabbit-shooting. 
A  little  to  the  right,  half  hid  by  some  laurels,  was  the 
rural  policeman. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

LE  EEVENANT. 


**  WnY.  Stephen,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Escott. 
VY  "  ^'^A  bless  me,  sir,"  said  Amos,  straightening 
his  back  with  the  caution  befitting  a  man  rendered  care- 
ful by  lumbago.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Escott,  but 
you  startled  nie,  sir." 

"  I  may  rctiu-n  the  compliment,  Stephen,"  said  the 
curate.     "  Well,  what's  wrong  ?" 

"  AVhy  you  see,  sir,"  Stephen  began  in  his  usual  hoarse, 
familiar  whisper,  "  why  you  see,  sir,  all  of  a  heap  at  din- 
ner, it  came  into  my  head  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  sir, 
that  them  boy's  stories  about  lights  and  what  not,  why, 
sir,  that  it  might  be — thieves  ;"  the  last  word  hissed  into 
Escott's  ear.  "  So  says  I  to  my  missus,  says  I.  I  ain't  a 
going  to  see  that  poor,  persecuted  lady  robbed  afore  my 
eyes,  no  I  ain't,  and  says  she — '  You  ain't  a  going  on  no 
account  without  a  policeman,  I  can't  allow  it,'  says  she 
— 'la,' says  she, 'yon  may  come  on  a  whole  gang,  you 
may.'  AVell,  sir,  policeman  warn't  at  home  just  then,  no 
more  was  Mr.  (Jrcalorex,  and  it  don't  answer  allays  to  be 
goiii'  agon  advice  though  it  be  your  Avife  as  gov'  it" — 
here  a  sly  chuckle — '•  .^o  1  hed  to  bide  a  bit.  AVe  brought 
the  keys,  but  dang  it,  all  the  l)t)l(s  inside  is  drawn,  and 


LE   REVENANT.  155 

the  pantry  winder's  fastened  as  never  was  afore,  becase, 
ye  sec,  sir,  it  was  so  small — now,  sir,  that  couldn't  be 
done  by  ghosts,  could  it,  sir  ?"  and  Amos  waited  for  an 
answer. 

"  Probabilities  are  against  it,"  said  Escott. 

"  I've  bawled  in  that  I'll  fire  through  the  keyhole  and 
burst  the  door— but  not  a  bit  a'  use— now,  sir,  I'm  glad 
you're  come  to  tell  us  what's  best  to  be  done." 

"The  policeman  had  better  go  and  watch  the  back  of 
the  house,  while  you  take  out  a  pane  of  glass  :  if  we  can- 
not then  open  the  shutter,  you  can  cut  through  it." 

"  Very  well,  sir,  I  did  think  of  that,  but  it  w^as  a 
responsibility  to  take  on  one's  own  shoulders,"  said  Amos, 
as  with  alacrity  he  set  about  obeying  Escott's  directions. 

When  the  curate  had  first  given  these  orders,  he  had 
readily  accepted  Araos's  notion  of  thieves ;  but  while 
waiting  till  the  old  carpenter  had  removed  the  glass, 
another  idea  struck  him.  Perhaps  Hans  had  returned 
during  the  night,  wishing  quietly  to  remove  some  of 
the  articles  left  behind.  He  communicated  this  conjec- 
ture to  Amos  ;  biit  Amos  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  He  ain't  the  man  to  do  it,  sir,  and  lard  !  he  couldn't  a 
pushed  hisself  through  the  pantry  winder,"  and  Amos 
having  removed  the  pane  of  one  of  the  dining-room  win- 
dows, undid  the  sneck,  and  throwing  up  the  sash,  easily 
cut  a  hole  through  the  shutter,  which  enabled  him  to 
push  up  the  cross-bar  with  which  it  was  secured. 

Escott  stepped  in  at  the  window  followed  by  Amos, 
the  policeman  still  remaining  on  guard  outside. 

"  Take  care  what  you  are  about  with  that  noble  gun  of 
yours,"  said  Escott,  perceiving  that  the  churchwarden 
had  not  neglected  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst.  "  Don't 
be  in  a  hurry  to  use  it — put  it  at  half  cock." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  in  the  dining-room,  the 
drawing-room  door  was  fastened  within. 

"There,  sir,  you  see  there's  something  wrong,"  said 
Amos. 

"No  doubt,"  replied  the  curate — he  rapped  with  his 
knuckles  saying,  "  Whoever  is  inside,  had  better  not  give 
us  the  trouble  of  forcing  an  entrance — the  policeman  is 
outside,  and  we  have  fire-arms ;  thei-efore  if  you  are  in 
your  senses,  open  the  door" — no  answer : — "  Very  well,  I 


156  SKIRMISHING. 

shall  count  three  aloud,"  went  on  Escott,  "  and  if  the 
door  is  not  opened,  take  the  consequences.  One — two — 
now  when  I  pronounce  the  last  number  it  will  be  instantly 
followed  by  our  firing  through  the  keyhole.  The  person 
left  in  charge  is  determined  to  protect  the  property  in 
this  house — you  are  fairly  warned — I  am  going  to  say — " 

The  door  slowly  opened. 

"  George  Brown !  Master  George  !"  burst  simulta- 
neously from  Escott  and  the  churchwarden ;  though  the 
drawing-room  shutters  were  closed  and  the  light  from 
the  hall  was  faint,  still  there  was  no  mistaking  the  small 
short  figure,  even  wrapped  as  it  was  in  a  cloak. 

Amos  first  recovered  his  surprise. 

"  Lor'  bless  us.  Master  George,  whatever  in  the  wide 
wurruld  be  you  a  doing  here  ?" 

"That's  my  business,"  answered  George.  "  Now  you 
have  satisfied  your  curiosity,  perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  allow  me  the  use  of  my  mother's  house  ?" 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Escott,  good-humouredly,  "  what 
is  the  reason  of  your  forcing  us  to  play  at  hide-and-seek  ?" 

George  was  in  that  state  of  mhul  when  any  thing  ap- 
proaching to  a  joke,  sounds  like  an  insult. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Escott,"  he  answered,  "  I  think 
that  question  would  come  best  from  me.  I  had  as  little 
idea  as  wish  that  you  should  play  at  lluit  game." 

Escott  was  accustomed  to  hear  vibrations  of  anger  in 
George's  tones,  but  what  he  plainly  detected  now  in  them, 
was  the  qilivcring  of  fear  ;  the  voice  itself  was  hoarse  and 
unequal. 

"Some  new  misfortune  has  happened  to  these  poor 
creatures,"  said  Escott  to  himself;  he  was  still  under  the 
influence  of  his  softened  feelings — then  aloud — "Amos, 
you  had  better  tell  the  policeman  his  services  arc  not 
furlher  rcquirexl." 

Amos  lifted  his  hat  and  rubbed  behind  his  ear,  a  sign 
of  enil)arrassnieiit  witli  him;  sidling  up  to  the  curate  he 
asked  in  a  wliisper, 

"Shall  1  tell  you  the  truth,  sir?" 

An  awkward  query. 

"  Not  just  now — give  him  my  message  and  bid  him  call 
on  me  in  an  lujur,  and  Anius,  1  fancy  Master  George  might 
prefer  speaking  to  me  alone.  You  can  wait  for  us,  how- 
ever, and  by-thc-byc  make  the  house  safe  again." 


LE   REVENANT.  157 

Turning  to  George,  whose  egress  from  the  drawing- 
room  he  had  purposely  barred  by  standing  in  the  door- 
way, Escott  said — 

"  Now  you  must  take  me  into  your  confidence,  for  you 
cannot  remain  here  alone — allow  me  to  shut  the  door  and 
open  the  shutters." 

Even  while  speaking  the  curate  had  gently  compelled 
George  to  go  farther  into  the  centre  of  the  room,  and 
had  opened  the  shutters.  George  seated  himself  on  the 
sofa  with  his  back  to  the  window.  Escott  stood  near 
him,  leaning  on  the  mantelpiece,  trying  to  read  George's 
face  in  the  waning  light. 

"Your  mother '!"  began  the  curate,  "  is  she  with  you  ?" 

"  Thanks ;  my  mother  was  safely  at  Ostcnd  the  night 
before  last." 

"And  yon,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

George  hesitated,  then  replied  abruptly, 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  will  not  force  myself  on  your  con- 
fidence, but  cannot  I  be  of  some  service  ;  there  will  be  no 
possibility  of  concealing  your  being  here — the  least  dan- 
ger of  what  you  think  right  to  keep  secret,  being  dis- 
covered, will  be  for  you  to  come  to  my  lodgings.  I  can 
give  you  a  room." 

"  You  are  very  good — but  your  home  would  not  suit 
me."  George  made  a  very  good  attempt  to  resume  his 
former  jaunty  manner,  still  it  was  clear  enough  that  it 
was  assumed. 

"  Surely  I  can  be  of  some  use  to  you — help  you." 

"  Past  helping,"  said  George ;  the  words  were  almost 
lost  in  a  desperate  struggle  with  a  rising  sob. 

"  I  see  there's  something  very  wrong  with  you,"  said 
the  curate  ;  "  come  now,  try  to  believe  me  an  elder  brothei 
• — forget  our  former  little  misunderstandings.  Why,  you 
know  wo  had  grown  to  be  very  good  friends,  let  us  shake 
hands  like  honest  comrades.  You'll  find,  if  you  trust  me, 
that  I  am  no  mere  fairweather  acquaintance."  Escott 
held  out  his  hand. 

"I  can't  take  it,"  said  Georgo.  "You  can't  be  my 
friend,  you  wouldn't  be,  if  you  knew  the  truth." 

Escott  was  perplexed;  such  a  phrase  will  set  the  most 
indulgent  imagination  speculating  on  possible  delinquen- 


158  SKIRMISHING. 

cies.  Then  his  eye  travelling  over  the  childish  figure  of 
the  self-accuser,  the  curate  thought,  "  What  error  caa 
this  mere  boy  have  committed  ? — probably  after  all  he 
would  have  merely  to  listea  to  a  confidence  of  hobbety- 
boyhood  love." 

"  Mr.  Escott,"  said  George  suddenly,  "  -will  you  do  me 
one  favour  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Leave  me ;  go  away ;  I  can  manage  perfectly  for 
myself,  I  assure  you." 

Escott  had  not  been  prepared  for  the  request ;  he  was  a 
little  hurt,  and  said, 

"  Well,  I  won't  refuse  you  what  you  so  kindly  call  a 
favour,  but  first  tell  me  have  you  money  for  present 
exigencies  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  don't  tell  any  one  I  am  here.  I  hate  a 
fuss." 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  make  you  a  promise  of  conceal- 
ment, even  were  secrecy  possible,  which  it  is  not,  con- 
sidering that  Amos  knows  of  your  being  here,  and  that 
the  policeman  will  also  expect  an  explanation  as  to  who 
had  made  a  forcible  entrance  into  the  house.  Besides 
the  more  I  reflect  on  the  matter,  the  less  I  feel  inclined 
to  trust  you  to  your  own  guidance.  I  feel  responsible  to 
your  mother  for  your  safe  keeping.  I  suspect,"  and 
Escott  fixed  his  eye  firmly  on  George,  "  I  suspect  that 
she  knows  nothing  of  your  return  here ;  in  fact,"  laying 
his  hand  heavily  on  George's  shoulder,  "  you  have  run 
away  from  her?"  Escott  felt  the  boy  tremble,  but  in  an 
instant  he  shrunk  from  under  the  curate's  hold. 

"By  what  right  do  you  interfere  with  me?"  asked 
George,  in  a  fierce  shrill  voice.  "You  know  that  my 
mother  never  liked  you  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
me." 

"That's  true;  and  as  you  liave  reminded  me  of  tliat,  1 
will  not  pursue  my  first  plan  of  insisting  on  your  going 
home  with  me;  but  whether  it  pleases  you  or  not,  I  shall 
see  you  safely  under  Mr.  Greatorex's  protection  before  we 
part  company." 

"  Don't,  don't  persecute  me,  Mr.  Escott." 

The  phrase  irritated  Escott — it  sounded  so  extravagant 
and  absurd. 


LE   REVENANT.  159 

"  Persecute  !  nonsense — be  reasonable  and  come  with 
me  quietly.  No  one,  I  promise  you,  •will  ask  you  any 
questions  as  to  how  or  why  you  came  hither,  and  my 
advice  to  you  is  to  set  off  to-morrow  and  rejoin  your 
mother." 

"  Ask  Amos  to  let  me  go  to  his  house,"  said  George, 
"  and  I  will  gq  away  to-morrow." 

"You  are  wrong,"  returned  Escott;  "  why  avoid  your 
equals  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Escott,  do  not  urge  me  so  hard  ;  let  me  go 
my  own  way — it  will  be  better  for  everybody." 

"  T  shall  not  give  you  further  advice,  but  I  shall  keep 
an  eye  on  you,"  and  Escott,  calling  in  Amos,  mentioned 
G-corge's  wish. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  sure,  I'm  agreeable  ;  but  Master  George 
would  be  a  deal  more  comfortable  with  you,  or  at  the  rec- 
tory, than  with  us — the  schoolmistress  she  have  our  big- 
gest room,  and  we've  only  a  closet  besides  without  a  fire- 
place— but  if  it'll  do,  why,  sir,  there  it  is." 

"  It  will  do,"  said  George  in  a  low  voice. 

Escott,  touched  by  George's  dejected  tone  and  look, 
and  moved  also  by  some  of  that  regret  with  which  we 
look  for  the  last  time  even  on  those  in  whom  we  take  but 
a  trivial  interest,  said, 

"  I  shall  be  at  the  rectory  in  the  evening,  and  should 
you  change  your  mind  and  wish  to  see  me,  send  a  mes- 
sage and  1  will  come  to  you."  As  Escott  paused,  George 
said,  "Thank  you."  The  curate  went  on,  "Then,  I  shall 
not  say  good-bye,  but  only  good  afternoon." 

"Good  afternoon,  sir." 

Escott  thinking  he  descried  signs  of  yielding  in  the 
boy,  and  that  it  might  be  the  best  way  of  managing  him, 
to  leave  him  to  the  working  of  the  feelings  natural  to  his 
age,  said  "  au  revoir,"  and  left  the  room.  He  was 
scarcely  in  the  hall,  before  George  called  after  him  hur 
riedly,  "  Mr.  Escott."  Escott  stopped  directly,  "  Well, 
what  is  it  ?"  he  said,  with  what  he  meant  to  be  an  encou- 
raging smile,  but  it  produced  the  contrary  effect,  for 
George  added,  "  No,  I  needn't  trouble  you.  Good  after- 
noon." 

"  Remember  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  again  before  you 
leave  to-morrow,"  said  Escott. 


160  SKIRMISHING. 

George  nodded. 

Escott  walked  slowly  away,  expecting  to  be  again  re- 
called. "  We  shall  have  the  confession  before  bedtime," 
he  thought ;  more  curious  than  he  would  have  owned,  to 
discover  the  reasons  that  had  brought  George  back  to 
Eden. 

Amos,  who  had  been  standing  by,  remained  a  minute 
or  two  patient,  but  seeing  George  continue  in  the  same 
position,  as  if  utterly  forgetful  that  there  was  any  one 
waiting  his  pleasure,  the  carpenter  said,  "Now,  Master 
George,  it  be  a'most  tea-time,  and  the  missus  be  terrible 
punctual.  Why,  Lor  a  mercy,  whatever  ails  the  lad?" 
The  moment  Ajuos  spoke,  George  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears.  "  Dearie  me,  dearie  me,  and  there's  Mr.  Escott 
fairly  gone.  Come  now,  sir,  boys  never  oughtn't  to  cry 
like  that.  I'll  lay  anything  now  you're  a  bit  hungry. 
You'll  feel  no  end  better  for  a  cup  of  tea.  Come  now, 
sir."  George  made  no  answer,  but  lifting  his  cap  from  a 
table  close  by,  walked  quickly  out  of  the  door,  Amos 
following.  The  good-natured  man  tried  hard  to  find 
amusing  conversation  for  his  self-invited  guest — but  not 
a  syllable  could  he  win  from  George. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

NEW  LIGHTS. 


THE  excitement  Escott's  talc  produced  at  the  rectory 
was,  to  speak  within  the  bounds  of  truth,  immense. 
The  effect  was  to  make  the  elders  of  the  family  change 
characters. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  was  struck  dumb  by  surprise,  while 
Mrs.  (rreatorcx  became  unusually  talkative  and  declared 
herself  unable  to  believe  her  own  ears. 

"  You  actually  saw  him,  spoke  to  him  ?"  she  asked  over 
and  over  again. 

Mild  Mr.  Greatorcx  said, 

"1  have  a  great  mind  to  send  for  the  policeman  and 
have  the  young  monkey  brought  here  whether  he  likes  it 
or  not.  A  Itad  boy  to  be  adding  to  his  poor  raothcr'a 
troubles  at  this  moment." 


NEW   LIGHTS.  161 

"  But  what  can  have  brought  him  back,  and  how  did 
he  come,  and  how  has  he  got  anything  to  eat  ?"  went  on 
Mrs.  Greatorex.  "  Walter,  what  a  pity  you  hadn't 
thought  of  asking  him  if  he  had  had  any  food,  it's  enough 
to  make  him  ill,  if  he  has  been  fasting  ever  smce  last 
night,  for  I  suppose  he  will  turn  out  to  be  the  ghost  of 
the  Hatch." 

They  were  all  still  in  the  thick  of  conjectures  when 
James  the  footman  came  into  the  room,  and  in  the  voice 
peculiar  to  the  bearer  of  important  news,  informed  Mrs. 
Greatorex  that  Mrs.  Amos  would  be  glad  to  say  a  few 
words  to  her. 

"  Beg  Mrs.  Amos  to  go  into  the  library,"  and  away 
hurried  Mrs.  Greatorex,  saying  as  she  went,  "  Now  we 
shall  get  at  the  truth  about  Master  Dodge." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Amos,"  began  the  rector's  lady,  "  I  fancy 
you  have  had  as  great  a  start  as  the  rest  of  us." 

Mrs.  Amos  was  a  tall,  square,  spare  woman,  nicely 
dressed  in  black,  as  became  the  station  of  a  church-war- 
den's wife  ; — her  bonnet  mdeed  was  in  the  height  of  the 
fashion.  Her  manner  at  all  times  was  prim,  such  as  you 
often  find  in  women  who  have  had  no  children  to  make 
them  forget  themselves.  Mrs.  Amos  became  doubly 
starched  when  nervous,  and  was  so  slow  in  delivering 
herself  of  what  she  had  come  to  say,  that  she  nearly 
made  her  present  curious  listener  wring  her  hands  with 
impatience. 

"  Yes'm — of  course  it  came  on  me  quite  sudden  like, 
and  as  you  knows,  Mrs.  Greatorex,  it  don't  answer  very 
well  for  me  to  get  them  starts.  I  don't  get  over  it  so 
easy  as  other  folks — it's  my  constitution,  my  mother  and 
me  and  all  my  family  were  the  same — we  couldn't  stand 
being  started,"  and  here  Mrs.  Amos  came  to  a  full  stop. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Escott  could  have  persuaded  Master 
George  to  come  to  us,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex,  adding  with 
resignation,  "  but  sit  down,  Mrs.  Amos ;  I  hope  you  have 
nothing  worse  to  tell  me  of,  than  a  boyish  freak." 

Mrs.  Amos  took  from  her  pocket  a  large  linen  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  contemplating  its  hem,  said  very  guttu- 
rally,  "  I  ain't  used  to  be  taken  so  quick,  and  to  speak 
my  mind,  Mrs.  Greatorex,  I  don't  think  Amos,  knowing 
me  as  he  docs,  ought  to  have  done  it ;  but  women  ain't 

14* 


162  SKIRMISHING. 

prophets  to  find  out  all  they'll  have  to  bear  when  they 
marry,  and  a  man  somehow  always  do  manage  to  worrft 
one's  feelings." 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Amos,  I  am  sure  you  have  no  good  reason 
to  complain  of  your  husband.  Every  one  knows  what  a 
respect  he  has  for  your  opinion,  but  now  tell  me  if  I  can 
help  you  with  your  visitor  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  am  coming  to,  Mrs.  Greatorex ;  there's 
more  wrong  about  this  young  gentleman  coming  here 
thdn  we  guesses  at — he  won't  come  into  the  parlour,  nor 
swaller  even  a  cup  of  tea,  and  when  we  listens  at  the 
door,  we  hears  a  noise  as  if  he  were  crying  with  his  head 
under  the  bed-clothes — it's  a  providence  'm  there  ain't 
nothing  more  nor  a  latch  to  the  closet,  so  he  can't  lock 
himself  in  or  he'd  do  it — and  now  'm  if  you  or  the  rector 
would  step  up  and  see  what's  to  be  done — it's  a  fine  night 
sure,  or  1  wouldn't  bog  it  of  you." 

"  I'll  ask  -Mr.  Greatorex  what  he  thinks  best,"  said  the 
lady. 

When  the  rector  had  hoard  Mrs.  Amos's  account  he 
said, 

"  I'll  go  myself  and  bring  the  young  man  here.  I 
have  no  idea  of  our  all  yielding  to  his  vagaries,"  and 
the  rector  put  on  his  clerical  hat,  which  he  always  did 
when  he  went  to  remonstrate  with  oflenders.  Mr.  Great- 
orex had  a  quiet  way  of  carrying  his  point,  when  he 
thought  it  worth  while,  so  no  one  doubted  but  George 
would  return  with  him. 

In  half  an  hour  steps  were  heard  in  the  hall,  and  a 
minute  afterwards,  Mr.  Greatorex  put  in  his  head  at  the 
drawing-room  door  and  said, 

"  Grandmamma,  you  are  wanted." 

When  Mrs.  Lcscrimibre  obeyed  the  summons,  the  rector 
whispered, 

"  He  is  in  the  dining-room,  strike  while  the  iron's  hot. 
I  have  had  a  sore  struggle  to  bring  him  here ;  he  has 
promised  to  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  him." 

Mrs.  Lcscrimiore  fir.st  shut  the  dining-room  door,  llicn 
^aid  in  her  most  cordial  voice, 

"  "Why,  Dodge,  my  dear  boy,  what  makes  you  wish  to 
keep  out  of  our  way  ?  AVhalever  is  wrong,  will  be  <^asiei 
put  to  riglits  willi  llie  help  of  friends  than  without;"  she 
was  now  close  to  him. 


NEW   LIGUTS.  16 


o 


For  one  instant  be  stood  motionless,  then  suddenly 
throwing  his  arms  round  her  neck,  he  clung  to  her  with 
the  convulsive  grasp  of  terror,  saying,  in  a  broken 
whisper, 

"  Save  me,  save  me." 

"  Child,  child,  what  have  you  done  ?  tell  me ;  we  will 
protect  you,  but  tell  me  truly  what  it  is  ?" 

Mrs.  Lescrhnifere  was  obliged  to  use  all  her  strength  to 
support  him,  and  then  through  chattering  teeth,  she  heard 
his  avowal. 

"  Hush,  hush — don't  shake  so — it's  no  crime,"  said  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere,  in  a  low  tone. 

George  had  fainted. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  business,"  muttered  the  old  lady  to 
herself  as  she  laid  the  senseless  form  on  the  floor,  and  ran 
to  fetch  her  daughter. 

Within  an  hour  every  one  in  the  rectory  knew,  even 
to  the  smallest  child,  that  George  Brown  had  turned  out 
to  be  a  young  lady  instead  of  a  young  gentleman. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  bore  the  shock  of  the  discovery  won- 
derfully well.  We  constantly  see  persons  who  are  easily 
disturbed  by  petty  annoyances,  bear  great  ones  with 
praiseworthy  equanimity.  This  was  pretty  much  the 
case  with  Mrs.  Greatorex ;  she  felt  herself  now  fairly 
caught  in  the  net  of  misery  and  mischance  entangling  the 
Browns,  and  showed  a  placidity  that  none  of  the  rest  of 
her  family  could  equal. 

Mr.  Greatorex  was  more  perturbed  than  he  had  ever 
been  since  his  marriage — Maud  half  frightened,  Escott  in 
a  boiling  indignation ;  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room, 
repeating  again  and  again, — 

"It's  unpardonable,  the  case  must  be  indeed  a  desperate 
one  which  could  excuse  such  a  deception  on  us  all." 

At  last  Maud  took  courage  and  said, — 

"  AVe  must  remember  that  Mrs.  Brown  did  all  she  could 
to  avoid  us,  we  intruded  on  her." 

"  Maud,"  exclaimed  Escott :  "  you  are  too  good  yourself, 
to  understand  how  thoroughly  wrong  the  conduct  of  these 
people  has  been  ;"  he  added  more  to  himself  than  her,  "  it 
is  despairing  to  think  how  evil  runs  so  closely  alongside 
of  our  best  efforts  to  do  good." 

Mr.  Greatorex,  who  had  not  heard  what  Escott  was 


164  SKIRMISHING. 

saying,  observed  that  lie  was  very  sorry  that  he  had 
spoken  so  harshly  that  evening  to  the  poor  young  thing, 
— "but  how,"  added  he,  looking  at  his  irate  curate, — "how 
was  I  ever  to  imagine  I  was  talking  to  a  girl." 

"  How  indeed !"  repeated  Escott,  and  continued  his 
quick  step. 

"  It's  quite  true  what  Maud  said,  we  have  only  our- 
selves to  blame — we  must  just  accept  the  consequences," 
said  the  rector. 

An  answer  rose  to  Escott's  lips,  but  he  caught  sight 
of  Maud's  anxious  face  and  repressed  it. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  presently  came  in  to  say,  that  she 
thought  they  had  better  send  for  Mr.  Ilunt — "  the  poor 
girl's  head  was  wandering." 

Mr.  Greatorex  agreed,  and  left  the  room  to  give  the 
necessary  orders,  for  Mr.  Hunt,  the  surgeon  of  the  Union, 
lived  three  miles  off. 

"  There  must  have  been  a  motive  for  his  coming  back 
here — I  mean  her,"  said  Escott,  correcting  himself.  "  I 
.«hall  never  be  able  to  think  of  her  but  as  George  Brown. 
Do  you  know  why  she  returned  ?" 

Mrs.  Greatorex  hesitated,  and  turned  away  from 
Escott's  inquiring  look  saying,- — 

"We  shall  find  out  by-and-by.  I  suppose  I  had  better 
go  and  see  what's  doing  upstairs,"  and  left  Maud  and 
Escott  to  a  (ete-d-tete. 

Escott  had  not  addressed  himself  more  than  once  to 
Maud,  yet  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  they  Avere  friends 
again — nay,  she  was  conscious  of  having  gained  a  new 
power.     She  said  to  him  with  new-born  frankness, — 

"  You  are  too  hard  on  the  Browns." 

"Am  I  ?"  he  answered.  "  Well,  if  I  am,  forgive  me  for 
that  and  for  many  other  hardnesses,  will  you  Y" 

"Forgive  you?  Walter,  you  were  quite  right  and  1 
was  quite  wrong." 

He  smiled :  the  smile  was  not  free  of  sadness,  and 
said, — '■ 

"  Long  may  you  look  at  mo  througli  tlie  glasses  you 
MOW  wear,  dear  Maud — "  and  tlion  their  talk  became  only 
interesting  to  themselves. 

Escott  (lid  not  leave  the  rectory  till  after  the  arrival  of 
the  medical  man.     Mr.  Hunt  depressed  the  ladies'  spirits 


"  SCATTERED   FOAM,    THAT'S   IIER   HISTORY."    165 

to  his  heart's  satisfaction,  by  allowing  that  he  perceived 
incipient  symptoms  of  brain  fever,  and  then  managed  by 
dexterous  questions  to  elicit  much  more  of  the  Browns' 
story  than  Mrs.  Greatorex  wished  to  impart.  Having 
prescribed,  the  surgeon  rode  off  with  an  exhilarating 
dose  of  gossip  for  his  next  day's  patients. 

Every  one  knows  how  rapidly  news  spreads — particu- 
larly sinister  news.  In  a  few  minutes  after  the  Due  de 
Berri  was  assassinated,  the  fact  was  known  at  the  other 
end  of  Paris ;  and  oh  !  after  Mr.  Hunt's  visit,  what  a  tide 
of  talk  flowed  through  the  parish,  what  a  confusion  of 
persons,  and  ideas,  and  names !  It  was  astonishing,  if 
the  speakers  were  to  be  believed,  how  many  there  were 
who  had  suspected  the  truth,  "only  it  was  not  their  way 
to  trouble  their  heads  about  their  neighbors'  affairs  ;"  it 
sounded,  however,  vastly  like  prophesying  after  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Greatorex  indeed,  and  she  might  be  relied  on,  said 
she  had  had  her  suspicious  excited  by  what  Mr.  Twyford 
had  told  her  husband;  her  doubts,  however,  were  not 
forty-eight  hours  old. 

Never  had  Escott  felt  more  uncomfortable  than  when 
he  left  the  rectory  that  night.  He  walked  as  men  walk 
who  carry  an  over-burden — he  was  indeed  weighted  by  a 
thought  which  he  resisted  as  one  resists  a  bitter  enemy — 
a  thought  born  of  Mrs.  Greatorex's  strange  reticences 
when  he  pushed  her  on  the  subject  of  the  return  of  the 
disguised  girl  to  Eden,  spurred  by  some  recollections  of 
his  own. 

"  This  all  comes,"  quoth  he,  "  of  leaving  the  safe  and 
beaten  paths  traced  by  experience." 


CHAPTER  XXI V^ 

"  SCATTERED  FOAM,  THAT's  HER  HISTORY." 

IF  any  one  had  prophesied  three  days  before  to  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  that  she  would  eagerly  welcome  Mrs. 
Brown,  (so  late  the  object  of  her  suspicions,)  as  a  guest 
at  the  rectory  on  Christmas  Day,  and  that  she  would  not 
close  her  eyes  the  night  before  from  anxiety  about  George, 


166  SKIRMISHING. 

I 

Mrs.  Greatorcx  would  have  set  dovm  such  a  prophet  as 
a  false  one.  Yet  so  it  was.  Early  on  Christmas  morn- 
ing a  fly  stopped  at  the  rectory  gate,  and  out  of  it  stepped 
Mrs.  Brown,  pale  and  fatigued,  with  that  peculiar  look  of 
distress  in  her  face,  of  disorder  in  her  dress,  which  arises 
from  a  pressure  of  mental  anxiety  joined  to  a  night  passed 
in  travelling. 

A  very  few  lines  will  suffice  to  explain  how  Mrs.  Brown 
and  George  had  left  Eden,  and  how  it  happened  that  the 
latter  had  been  able  to  return  thither.  Long  before  dawn 
they  had  set  off  for  the  station,  distance  three  miles, 
carrying  a  small  bag,  containing  a  few  necessary  articles; 
they  had  luckily  met  no  one  who  could  recognize  them, 
and  had  been  in  time  for  one  of  the  down  trains  to  Dover. 
The  Ostend  steamer  was  to  leave  at  four  in  the  afternoon. 
Mrs.  Brown  got  her  passport  vi's^d  and  then  remained, 
she  and  the  disguised  George,  in  a  qiiiet  out  of  the  way 
hotel  till  it  was  time  to  embark.  Immediately  on  going 
on  board,  Mrs.  Brown  went  down  to  the  lady's  cabin, 
and  it  was  then  that  George  managed  to  slip  back  on 
shore ;  and  Mrs.  BroMTi  was  half  way  across,  before  she 
had  the  slightest  suspicion  of  what  had  occurred — not 
indeed,  till  paying  the  steward  for  the  two  tickets,  she 
had  begged  him  to  see  after  a  short  young  gentleman 
with  fair,  curly  hair,  and  to  let  her  know  how  he  was. 
The  steward  had  returned  in  a  few  minutes  to  say,  that 
he  could  find  no  young  gontloman  answering  to  that  des- 
cription. The  poor  lady  was  half  distracted ;  she  scarcely 
so  much  feared  an  accident,  as  that  George  had  gone  back 
to  Eden;  she  had  sufficient  grounds  for  this  conjecture. 
There  was  only  one  thing  for  her  to  do — at  all  risks  she 
must  return  by  the  next  boat — but  the  passage  was 
longer  than  usual,  and  when  she  reached  Ostend,  the 
steamer  for  England  was  already  out  of  harboi;r.  By 
this  unlucky  delay  of  a  d:iy  she  had  missed  finding  Hans 
.still  at  the  Jlalcli ;  lie  had  left  the  evening  before,  as  ])re- 
urranged,  to  join  her  at  Ostend.  Finding  the  Hatch 
locked  up  and  too  evidently  empty,  Mrs.  Brown  had  then 
driven  to  John  Earl's,  lio))ing  that  (ieorge  might  liave 
taken  refuge  there.  Kind  Miss  Earl  had  cniiglilened  the 
poor  motlier  as  to  her  child's  safety,  of  lier  being  at  tho 
rectory,  and  of  the  discovery  that  liad  ensued. 


"scattered  foam,   that's  her  mSTORY."    IGT 

Mrs.  Greatorex  actually  kissed  Mrs.  Brown  in  the  pas- 
sage before  all  the  maids ;  a  greeting  wliich  went  fur  to 
satisfy  their  minds,  that  Mrs.  Brown  might  be  unfortu- 
nate, but  could  not  have  been  guilty  of  any  misdemeanor. 

"  You  must  have  a  cup  of  tea  before  you  see "  Mrs. 

Greatorex  paused— from  habit  she  was  going  to  say  your 
son,  but  remembered  in  time  that  the  son  had  become  a 
daughter. 

"  George,  you  would  say,"  Mrs.  Brown  said.  "  Her 
name  is  Georgiana,  but  she  has  almost  always  gone  by 
the  name  of  George — it  was  begun  in  joke  from  her  being 
such  a  romp  ;"  the  poor  mother  sighed. 

"And  I  don't  think  we  could  ever  learn  a  new  name," 
said  Mrs.  Greatorex.  "I  am  glad  to  give  you  a  good 
report,  she  is  doing  as  well  as  possible,  only  we  must 
avoid  agitation,  for  she  was  a  little  light-headed  during 
the  night." 

"I  will  do  as  you  advise,"  replied  Mr.^.  Brown,  and 
then  Mrs.  Greatorex  began  to  understand  that  the  poor 
woman's  apparent  calmness  was  the  passiveness  of  ex- 
treme exhaustion. 

"  I  must  take  you  in  hand  as  a  patient  also,"  said  the 
rector's  wife  ;  "  you  must  be  sent  to  bed,  after  you  have 
had  some  breakfast.  In  the  meanwhile  we  will  break 
the  news  of  your  arrival  to  Georgey." 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  will  be  best,"  returned  Mrs.  Brown, 
too  worn  out  for  resistance. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  prepared  Georgey  as  carefully  as 
possible  for  seeing  her  mother.  When  Mrs.  Brown  ap- 
peared at  the  bed-side  and  stooped  to  kiss  the  poor  little 
face  eagerly  turned  to  her,  George  exclaimed, 

"  Oh  !  mother,  forgive  me  ;  I  have  done  wrong,  but  no 
harm  has  come  to  me." 

Mrs.  Brown's  very  lips  turned  blue,  but  she  shed  no 
tear,  uttered  no  word. 

"  Mother,  mother,  don't  look  so,"  cried  George,  sitting 
bolt  upright  in  the  bed;  "the  wickedness  is  gone  out 
of  me." 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  here  interfered,  and  said  that  she 
could  allow  of  no  exciting  conversations  ;  by-and-by  there 
would  be  plenty  of  time  for  explanations. 

Mrs.  Brown  sat  by  the  sleeping  girl — there  was  no 


168  SKIRMISHING. 

light  in  the  room,  save  that  from  the  fire ;  shadows 
quivered  over  the  walls,  the  ceiling,  the  floor.  Some  one, 
was  it  not  David  Scott  ?  painted  a  picture,  representing 
a  widow  seated  at  the  tomb  of  her  husband,  from  out  of 
which  rose  the  ladder  of  memory,  and  on  every  rung  or 
round  the  vision  of  some  scene  of  the  widow's  past  life. 
There  was  the  first  meeting,  the  betrothal,  the  marriage, 
the  first-born,  and  so  on  until  the  last  parting,  lost  in  the 
pitying  heavens. 

Mrs.  Brown,  as  she  kept  lonely  watch  by  her  unhappy 
child's  bed,  was  gazing  at  some  similar  phantoms.  The 
past  thrust  itself  forward  on  her  (as  it  docs  on  us  all  one 
day  or  other),  she  saw  plainly  the  first  mistake  which  had 
coloured  her  life,  without  which  she  would  not  have  had 
the  trials  that  now  afflicted  her ;  she  saw  (as  we  are  all 
one  day  or  other  forced  to  do),  how  the  false  step  might 
have  been  avoided,  that  she  had  erred  (as  we  all  do) 
through  her  own  wilfulness,  that  the  door  of  escape  had 
been  open,  and  then — she  shrunk  from  further  self-com- 
muning— for  deep,  deep,  in  the  secret  places  of  her  soul 
was  a  diuilit,  a  doulit  full  of  remorse,  whctlior  she  entirely 
repented  of,  and  regrelted  that  which  had  been. 

For  she  had  been  so  happy !  A  gleam  from  the  golden 
past  shone  over  her  even  now.  She  breathed  again  the 
perfumed  air  of  the  l)eautiful  glen  in  which  .'ilie  had  first 
met  the  man  she  had  so  truly,  so  constantly  loved,  she 
heard  again  his  voice,  his  very  words,  and  her  whole  be- 
ing thrilled,  as  though  that  tender  whisper  was  even  now 
spoken  in  lier  ear.  She  felt  the  very  touch  of  his  hand, 
and  a  vivid,  long  unknown  sensation  of  hnjipiness  came 
over  her.  Tlie  sudden  opening  of  a  door  below,  and  the 
sound  of  children's  merry  voices  brought  her  back  to  the 
dark  present. 

In  a  few  niinules,  Mrs.  Lescriniibre  put  her  head  into 
the  sick-room,  and  perceiving  that  (jeorge  was  asleep, 
beckoned  Mrs.  IJrown  away,  saying, 

"  We'll  send  Nurse  to  take  ymir  ])]aro.  T  have  some 
thing  to  show  yoii." 

Slie  took  Mrs.  Brown  into  lier  own  room. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,"  began  Mrs.  LescrimitTC  in  u 
motherly  tone;  "and  read  this  elliision.  prudently  ad- 
dressed to  me  ;"  she  Iiiindcd  a  note  t(,i  Mrs.  I'rown. 


"scattered  foam,  that's  her  history."  169 

It  was  written  iu  the  schoolmistress's  best  hand,  and 
ran  as  follows  : — 

"  Dear  Madam, 

"  I  THINK  it  a  duty  to  let  some  one  at  the  rectory  know 
what  has  come  to  my  cars.  As  it  has  no  reference  to  the 
school,  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  address  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Greatorex — nor  perhaps  Mrs.  Greatorex  ou  this  subject ; 
that  is  my  reason  for  troubling  you,  madam.  I  have  been 
reproached  as  the  cause  of  all  the  late  trouble  to  some 
persons  lately  residing  in  this  parish,  I  need  not  say  who. 
80  as  a  christian,  particularly  at  this  holy  season  of  the 
year,  I  shall  try  to  return  good  for  evil.  It  has  been 
mentioned  to  me,  on  the  best  authority,  that  our  police- 
man is  going  early  to-morrow  on  business  to  Z .     A 

word  to  the  wise  is  enough.     Be  so  obliging  as  only  to 
speak  of  this  note,  to  whom  it  concerns. 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  Albinia  Cox." 

"  She  means  he  is  going  for  a  summons  for  me,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Browni,  starting  to  her  feet.  "  Can  they 
not  leave  me  in  peace  even  for  one  day  ?" 

Mrs.  Lescriraifere  could  scarcely  recognize  the  voice 
and  look  with  which  these  words  were  uttered,  as  those 
of  the  placid  Mrs.  Brown.  It  was  in  truth  the  cry  of 
impatience  extorted  from  one  on  the  rack,  by  the  sting 
of  a  gnat. 

"Do  not  agitate  yourself  unnecessarily,"  the  old  lady 
said  soothingly,  "  if  you  are  determined,  really  determined 
not  to  appear  as  a  witness     .     .     .     ." 

"  Quite — quite,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Brown  ;  "  I  could 
not  do  it — no  one  would  ask  me,  who  knew  all — the  whole 
world  may  blame  him,  I  cannot — more,  I  will  not." 

Mrs.  Lescrimitre  was  going  to  speak,  when  Mrs.  Brown 
continued  with  a  rapidity  quite  startling, 

"  I  know  he  did  wrong." 

"  Been  cruel  and  seltish  ?"  broke  in  Mrs.  Lescrimiere. 

"  No — not  cruel  to  me— no,  never,  you  don't  know,  how 
can  you,  how  happy  I  have  boon  ;  sixteen  years  of  hap- 
piness, is  that  to  count  for  nothing,  to  merit  no  gratitude 
— what  was  I,  till  I  knew  him  ?  I  was  not  of  his 
station " 

15 


170  SKIRMISHING. 

"Stop,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  decidedly,  "I  beg  youi 
pardou,  my  dear,  for  being  so  abrupt,  but  you  are  talking 
nonsense ;  -whether  you  were  princess  or  peasant,  this 
Mr.  Bouverie  (it's  no  use  keeping  up  the  mystification), 
this  Mr.  Bouverie  knew  perfectly  well,  he  was  ruining 
your  life,  that  of  another  woman  who  had  trusted  him, 
and  also  breaking  the  laws  of  his  country  I  have  no 
pity  to  spare  for  him.  I  only  wish  he  had  me  to  deal 
with.     I  would  not  sheRer  him." 

"  But  I  have  loved  him,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  in  her  usually 
subdued  tone,  her  hands  over  her  face,  "  and  I  cannot  in- 
jure him." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  dispute  the  point  with  yoii,"  said 
Mrs.  Lescrimifere.  "I  have  no  right  to  dictate  to  you, 
nor  to  ask  you  to  adopt  my  mode  of  thinking,  but  were 
I  in  your  place,  I  would  prove  my  own  innocence,  prove 
that  I  had  been  sinned  against,  not  sinning." 

"  And  what  would  that  do  for  me?  Would  it  cancel 
the  past — restore  my  heart  to  what  it  was  when  I  first 
knew  him — the  world's  good  opinion  cannot  do  that  for 
me — God  Himself  cannot  annihilate  that  which  has  once 
been.  He  can  pardon,  and  make  our  crimson  sins  white 
as  snow — but  the  sins  have  been — they  are  as  imperisha- 
ble as  our  spirit." 

"  Poor  soul !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  gently 
forcing  Mrs.  Brown  to  sit  down  again,  and  holding  her 
band.  "  Poor  soul  I  tell  me  what  I  can  do  to  help  you, 
and  I  will  do  it." 

"Dear,  kind  lady  ! — get  me  out  of  England." 

"  My  son  and  daughter  will,  I  am  sure,  let  you  have  the 
carriage  to  take  you  to  Dover — that  will  bo  better  than 
the  railway  for  you." 

"  'J'hank  you,  thank  you,"  then  suddenly  she  added, 
"but  Georgey,  she  cannot  be  moved  yet." 

"Have  you  no  friends  who  would  take  charge  of  her 
tor  you — no  one  to  apply  to  in  thi.s  hour  of  trouble?" 

Airs.  Brown  shook  her  lunid  sadly. 

"1  was  an  ori)lian  almost  from  my  l)irlh,  and  Hie  rela- 
tions who  brought  mc  up  and  who  provide  me  with  my 
present  means  of  subsistence,  have  my  promise  that  I 
will  never  inflict  on  tbciii  llic  scandal  of  our  ])resence, 
or  be  tlie  means  of  bringing  tlieir  names  associated  with 


"scattered  foam,  that's  her  history."  171 

mine  before  the  public — they  are  severe,  unrelenting,  but 
they  prevent  our  having  the  additional  trial  of  actual 
poverty  to  contend  with.  I  need  scarcely  say,"  added 
Mrs.  Brown,  a  scarlet  flush  spreading  itself  over  her 
face,  "that  since  he  confessed  his  real  situation  tome, 
all  communication  between  us  has  ceased." 

"  I  believe  in  you  thoroughly,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere. 
"  I  will  undertake  the  charge  of  Georgcy,  and  when  she 
is  able  to  travel  I  will  send  her  with  my  maid  to  meet 
you  wherever  you  write  to  say  you  will  wait  for  her." 

"I  never — no,  never  shall  have  any  means  of  proving 
to  you  my  undying  gratitude,"  said  Mrs.  Brown — "  but  I 
am  grateful."  She  sat  silent  a  while,  only  a  slight  vibra- 
tion of  the  head  evidencing  her  inward  emotion. 

"  Poor  Georgey,"  she  Ijegan.  "  I  hope  you  will  all 
forgive  her;  her  disguise  was  not  her  own  doing,  it  was 
advised  as  a  means  towards  our  escaping  recognition. 
Sh-e  was  always  of  an  ■excitable  temperament,  and  I  fear 
that  her  education  fostered  instead  of  correcting  her 
faults — she  was  encouraged  in  boy's  habits  and  amuse- 
ments. Poor  child  !  she  was  delighted  at  having  a  mys- 
terious part  to  play — and  over  acted  it." 

"  Georgey's  faults  are  not  those  which  prevent  her 
being  loved — we  are  all  deeply  interested  in  you  both," 
said  Mrs.  Lescrimiiire. 

Mrs.  Brown  looked  into  the  kind  woman's  face  and 
said, 

"  Don't  think  me  cold,  if  I  beg  now  to  go  away  and 
remain  alone  with  George." 

"You  shall  do  as  you  like,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimibre, 
"but  if  you  would  take  my  advice  you  would  leave  George 
to  Nurse  and  try  to  have  a  quiet  night." 

"  I  shall  sleep  best  by  her  side,  it  will  perhaps  prevent 
bad  dreams,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

When  Mrs.  Brown  returned  to  the  sick  girl,  ISIrs. 
Lescrimifere  went  to  the  drawing-room  and  told  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Greatorcx  of  the  warning  that  she  had  received 
as  to  the  policeman's  movements,  without  betraying  the 
source  from  whence  derived,  and  also  of  her  consequent 
promises  in  their  name  as  to  hospitality  to  George, 
and  the  loan  of  the  carriage  to  take  Mrs.  Brown  to 
Dover. 


112  SKIRMISHING 

"  Oh !  let  her  have  the  carriage  certainly,"  said  Mrs. 
Greatorex  with  undissembled  alacrity,  "  and  of  course 
Georgey  can  stay  here  till  she  is  able  to  travel." 

"My  dear  ladies,"  said  Mr.  Greatorex,  "you  are  all 
alarming  yourselves  unnecessarily.  I  have  been  making 
inquiries  as  to  the  risks  and  perils  of  witnesses,  and  I  find 
that  even  after  a  subpoena  has  been  served  on  any  one, 
the  consequences  are  practically  nil,  unless  the  witness 
has  already  appeared  before  a  magistrate  and  been  bound 
over  to  appear  on  the  trial.  Mrs.  Brown  can  stay  here  per- 
fectly well  until  her  daughter  is  fit  to  be  moved.  Believe 
me,  a  witness  cannot  be  carried  off  by  force  like  a  criminal ; 
our  laws  have  an  extreme  tenderness  for  the  liberty  of  the 
subject." 

"I  do  beg,"  said  Mrs.  Greatorex,  turning  to  her  hus- 
band, "that  you  will  not  interfere  with  Mrs.Brown's  very 
natural  wish  to  get  away.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  still  I  must 
consider  my  own  family.  It  is  bad  enough  to  have  been 
already  so  mixed  up  in  a  most  unpleasaut  story,  the 
sooner  we  extricate  ourselves  from  it,  the  better;  besides, 
it  could  answer  no  good  purpose  to  detain  her." 

"Well,  well,  let  her  go,"  replied  Mr.  Greatorex.  "I 
hope  we  shall  not  be  hauled  over  tlie  coals  for  spiriting 
away  witnesses,"  he  added,  laughing ;  '•  however,  to  do  the 
thing  handsomely,  I  had  better  go  with  lier  and  see  her 
safely  on  board  a  steamer." 

"You ! !"  exclaimed  the  rector's  wife,  in  a  tone  of  hor- 
rified astonishment.  "You!  go  with  Mrs.  Brown?  why 
just  fancy  how  every  one  would  talk." 

"And  if  they  talked  themselves  to  death,  ray  dear 
Louisa,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimiere,  "  what  harm  could  that 
do  your  kind  husband?" 

"No,  that  is  a  thing  I  will  not  allow,"  continued  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  without  replying  to  her  mother.  "AVe  have, 
done  quite  enough;  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Brown  herself  would 
object  to  such  a  proposal,  or  she  is  not  as  grateful  as  she 
professes  to  be.  Oh,  mother !  how  imprudent  you  are ! 
when  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  how  ready  every  one  is 
to  throw  stones  at  the  church  and  the  clergy.  Just 
reflect,  how  it  would  look  to  see  Mr.  (Jreatorex  travelling 
about  the  country  lS(c-d-lStc  with  sucii  a  l)cautifnl  woman 
as  Mrs.  J5rown,  to  whom  besides  such  a  story  is  atr 
tachcd." 


GONE.  lis 

"  How  odd  you  should  be  my  daughter  !"  ejaculated 
Mi"S.  Lescrimifere. 

"  Oh !  my  dear  mother,  don't  be  too  severe  on  me," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Greatorex,  warned  by  a  spark  in  her 
mother's  eye,  and  a  certain  rigidity  in  the  lines  ol"  the 
mouth. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  took  a  long  breath,  and  said, — 

"  My  dear,  I'll  be  merciful — besides  I  believe  you  are 
right.  I'll  go  myself,  and  Greatorex,  comfort  your  wife 
in  private,  by  telling  her  that  every  one  knows  my  eccen- 
tricity, and  no  one  doubts  my  respectability.  Sleep  well, 
my  Louisa,  you  are  a  good  daughter,  good  wife,  good 
mother,  don't  deny  yourself  occasionally  one  of  the  best 
rewards  of  an  unspotted  life,  that  of  holding  out  a  pro- 
tecting hand  to  those  who,  from  adverse  circumstances, 
not  guilt  mind  you,  may  require  a  moral  support,  and  so 
good-night,  and  God  bless  you  both." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

GONE. 


MRS.  LESCRIMIERE  was  as  good  as  her  word.  She 
accompanied  Mrs.  Brown  to  Dover,  and  saw  her 
safely  on  board  the  steamer  for  Ostend.  Escott,  who 
thought  he  understood,  and  certainly  shared  in  Mrs. 
Brown's  wish  that  they  two  should  not  meet,  and  had 
consequently  kept  away  from  the  rectory  since  her  ar- 
rival there,  had  by  accident  a  sight  of  her  as  she  and  Mrs. 
Lescrimiferc  drove  out  of  Eden.  The  sharp  way  in  which 
Mrs.  Brown  turned  aside  from  his  glance  and  bow  con- 
firmed the  curate  in  his  suspicions  as  to  the  cause  of 
Georgey's  wild  act.  Yet  the  look  of  repugnance  with 
which  the  beautiful,  sorrowful  face  turned  from  him  made 
Escott  wince. 

"  She  is  unjust !"  he  said  to  himself — "  she  is  like  a 
child  who  is  wroth  with  the  table  against  which  it  has 
struck  its  head.  I  was  as  innocent  of  all  wish  to  harm 
her  or  hers,  as  any  stock  or  stone.  I  meant  well  when, 
overcoming  my  repugnance,  I  strove  to  let  in  light  oa  the 


ifi* 


114  SKIRMISHING. 

darkened  soul  of  her  child.  It  is  I,  who  ought  to  resent 
the  ridiculous  situations  in  -n^hich  I  have  been  placed  by 
such  masquerading." 

Escott  smarted  under  his  first  experience  of  being  mis- 
judged, and  by  one  on  whom  he  had  thought  to  have  a 
claim  for  gratitude.  He  was  keenly  sensitive  to  blame, 
at  the  same  time  that  he  had  in  him  the  something  of 
hardness  which  belongs  to  the  young,  strong,  untried  up- 
right man,  who  has  never  yet  been  taught  gentleness,  by 
having  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  falling.  Yes,  when 
we  meet  one  who  has  a  tender,  generous  indulgence  for 
others,  we  may  make  sure  that  "  he  has  suffered — being 
tempted." 

"  He  that  works  me  good  vrith  unmoved  face,  does  it 
but  half,  he  chills  me  while  he  aids,  my  benefactor — not 
my  brother  man."  In  the  "  moved  face"  lies  the  secret 
of  the  success  of  the  charity,  or  the  consolations  we 
offer  to  one  another. 

Hitherto  Escott  had  lived  in  a  charmed  circle  of  love 
and  approbation,  feeling  no  urgent  need  for  sympathy — 
but  as  the  bitter  of  olives  improves  the  taste  of  the  best 
wine,  so  did  his  present  vexation  make  him  sensible  of  the 
full  sweetness  of  Maud's  faith  in  him.  Though  all  the 
world  might  misunderstand  him,  she  would  not.  Once 
at  this  point  he  may  be  safely  left  to  his  tctc-dAete  with 
nature. 

Far  away  reaching  to  an  indefinite  horizon  rolled  the 
vast  relentless  sea ;  close  by  his  side,  the  little  clear 
spring  which  had  bubbled  up  from  beneath  a  cool  mossy 
stone,  went  rippling  merrily  along,  doing  its  modest  duty 
by  the  pastures  and  the  milky  mothers.  Sea  and  rivulet, 
fields  and  aromatic  fir-woods,  spoke  to  him  in  voices, 
"  sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good,"  conjuring  away 
all  the  clinging  cobwebs  spun  by  mortified  feelings. 

Now  we  must  return  to  the  rectory. 

Whatever  face  Mrs.  Creatorex  miglit  wear  to  the 
world;  however  genuinely  kind  to  the  sick  girl,  she  was 
not  the  less  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  to  he  quit  of  her  guest. 
All  sorts  of  reports  had  got  abroad  respecting  the 
Browns,  in  which  the  Greatorexes  figured  projninently. 
Letters  asking  for  explanations,  letters  epigrammatic, 
letters  of  condolence,  ttowcd  in,  backed  by  visits  par- 


GONE.  n5 

taking  of  the  different  characters  of  the  letters.  Mrs. 
Grcatorex  had  to  defend  herself  both  in  writing  and 
speaking.  She  was  on  her  trial,  it  seemed.  Mrs.  Lons- 
dale was  the  flower  of  all  her  visitors.  She  came  into 
the  rectory  drawing-room  with  a  "  Well,  Mrs.  Greatorex, 
a  nice  scrape  you  and  I  are  in,  every  one  is  open-mouthed 
at  our  imprudence — it's  fortunate,  I  say,  that  it's  no  worse 
— goodness,  it  might  have  been  swindling  or  murder,  or 
infanticide,  you  know — every  one  wonders  how  you  and  I 
ever  called  on  a  person  that  nobody  knew  anything  about. 
I  always  say,  I  should  never  have  done  it,  had  you  not 
introduced  her  to  me.  I  am  sure  never  was  anything 
more  like  one  of  those  stupid  stories  in  a  novel  than  this, 
which  we  know  to  be  actually  true.  It  is  bigamy,  isn't 
it  ?  I  am  dying  to  read  the  ,trial,  it's  to  come  on  after 
the  11th,  Mr.  Lonsdale  says.  And  the  boy,  oh !  heavens, 
I  mean  the  girl — how  well  Willie's  name  for  her  suited — 
Dodge — capital — the  cap  fitted  there.  What  does  she 
look  like  dressed  as  a  girl — I'd  give  anything  to  see  her, 
do  you  think  she  would  mind  seeing  me  ?" 

"  She  is  not  able  to  bear  any  excitement,"  said  Mrs. 
Greatorex,  very  coldly. 

"What  on  earth  made  her  come  back  here?  They 
say  Mr.  Escott  was  the  one  to  discover  where  she  was 
hidden — I  suppose  you  know  that  it's  against  the  law  for 
a  woman  to  dress  herself  in  man's  clothes  ?" 

"  A  woman  !  she's  a  mere  child,"  replied  Mrs.  Great- 
orex, adding,  in  a  severe  tone, — "  By-the-bye,  Mrs.  Lons- 
dale, what  was  your  authority  for  telling  Lady  Marston 
that  you  wore  sure  a  curate  not  a  hundred  miles  off  hadn't 
been  so  blind  as  the  rest  of  us  ?" 

"  Authority  !  my  dear  creature  !  besides,  I  didn't  say 
I  was  sure,  I  said  I  wondered  if  he  had  been  taken  in. 
Somebody  told  me  he  was  very  intimate  at  the  Hatch, 
walking  about  with  the  youth  and  teaching  him.  You 
can't  stop  people's  tongues — as  for  me  I  have  always  pro- 
tested I  was  not  in  the  secret — that  I  took  the  Browns 
on  trust,  thinking  I  might,  as  I  met  them  here.  Lady 
Marston  said  it  was  well  I  had  no  young  girls  about  me." 

"  Fiddle-faddle  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greatorex,  roused  to 
chow  that  she  had  inherited  some  of  her  mother's  spirit ; 
"  as  if  Lady  Marston  had  never  rubbed  against  some 


176  SKIRMISHING. 

thing  not  half  so  good  as  Mrs.  Brown.     I  hate  such  hy- 
pocrisy." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Lonsdale,  "  I've  no 
ill-will  to  Mrs.  Brown — only  it's  imprudent  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  people  under  a  cloud." 

Here  was  Mrs.  Greatorex's  own  argument  presented 
to  her,  and  very  unpalatable  it  tasted.  Mrs.  Lonsdale 
went  on, — 

"  I  shall  come  and  congratulate  you  the  day  you  get 
rid  of  the  whole  set.  You  can't  imagine  what  jokes 
there  are.  Don't  be  afraid,  I  am  not  going  to  repeat 
them,  only  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Lonsdale  says  he  heard  a 
parcel  of  young  men  declare  they  should  come  ard  take 
up  their  quartc'rs  at  Eden  to  get  a  sight  of  Miss  George." 

Mrs.  Greatorex  immediately  sent  for  Mr.  Hunt,  to 
ask  if  the  young  girl  was  not  sufficiently  convalescent  to 
travel. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say  on  the  subject;  he 
acknowledged  he  could  not  account  for  such  a  jirostra- 
tion  of  strength — the  amount  of  fever  she  had  had  did 
not,  according  to  him,  warrant  her  state  of  weakness. 
The  two  elder  ladies  could  have  enlightened  him,  but 
they  contented  themselves  with  hoping  that  Maud  and 
Escott  were  as  much  in  the  dark  as  the  doctor.  It  was 
a  great  deal  of  l)lindness  to  expect  of  Maud.  Does  not 
every  woman  who  feels  as  Maud  felt  towards  Escott,  sus- 
pect every  other  single  one  of  her  sex  of  seeing  with  her 
eyes,  and  feeling  with  her  heart  ? 

The  rector's  lady  being  a  prudent  person,  never  rested 
till  she  had  brought  Mr.  JIunt  to  agree  that  the  time  was 
come  when  cliange  of  air  would  benefit  the  invalid  ;  and 
accordingly  Mrs.  Lescrimii;re  wrote  to  that  effect  to  ]\Irs. 
Brown,  Poste  Kestante,  Ostend,  adding  that  they  would 
hasten  Georgcy's  going,  so  that  she  might  be  out  of  Eng- 
land before  tlie  coming  on  of  a  certain  case  for  trial. 

It  was  a  delicate  task  to  ])reparc  Georgey  for  lier  im- 
mediate departure;  but  Mrs.  Lescrimi^re  did  so  with 
every  maternal  ])recaution.  To  save  her  the  pains  of 
anticii)atiun,  nothing  was  said  till  the  morning  of  the  day 
fixed  for  her  leaving  the  rectory. 

Georgey  remained  silent  for  awhile  after  she  understood 
the  intimation.     Mr.s.  LescrimiJsrc  continued  speaking  to 


GONE.  nt 

her  caressingly,  passing  her  fingers  through  the  fair  curls 
clustering  so  thickly  over  the  poor  girl's  head.  Georgey 
at  last  drew  down  the  kind  hand,  and  holding  it  tightly 
between  her  own,  said  in  a  thick,  tremulous  voice, — 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something  before  I  go,  don't  let 
any  one  come  in  here." 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  said, — 

"  I'll  lock  the  door,  and,  my  dear,  I  am  willing  to  listen 
to  you,  but  pause  and  ask  yourself  if  you  have  a  right  to 
say  what  you  are  desirous  of  saying." 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  about  myself,"  said  Georgey,  impatiently, 
and  then  lapsed  again  into  silence,  her  rapid  changes  of 
colour  showing  a  sharp  inward  struggle, — then  she  went 
on  petulantly,^"  I  don't  know  where  to  begin,  it's  all 
such  a  confusion.  I  am  not  good,  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  and 
that's  why  I  am  so  unhappy,  I  suppose.  I  hated  Mr. 
Escott  because  he  looked  with  such  holy  horror  on  me 
Avhencver  I  met  him.  I  did  all  I  could  to  vex  him. 
When  I  first  went  to  church  it  was  to  make  game  of 
him — for  we  never  used  to  go  to  church — there  were  only 
Catholics  where  we  lived,  and  my  father  said  that  the  only 
sensible  way  to  worship  God  was  by  loving  and  admiring 
His  works.  I  hated  Mr.  Escott  too,  because  he  thought 
ill  of  my  mother,  and  only  on  account  of  her  not  going 
to  church ;  he  took  care  that  every  one  in  the  village 
should  know  he  thought  ill  of  us.  She  read  her  Bible  as 
much  as  any  one,  and  tried  to  make  me  do  so.  I  felt 
that  she  was  better  than  he  was,  for  when  I  told  her  what 
was  said,  she  answered,  that  if  she  went  against  the  habits 
of  the  persons  she  lived  amongst,  she  must  expect  to  be 
blamed.  She  had  no  objection  to  going  to  church,  only 
perhaps  by  staying  away,  it  might  prevent  our  being 
visited,  which  was  what  she  wished.  Oh !  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere,  I  did  not  hate  him  any  more  when  I  saw  him  go 
away,  all  wet  as  he  was,  to  old  Betsey  Curtis,  and  then 
Charity  Wood "  Georgey  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"There,  never  mind  telling  me  any  more,"  said  Mrs. 
Lescrimiere,  "  I  understand ;  it  was  not  very  wonderful ; 
poor  little  girl,  poor  little  girl." 

"  Mamma  wanted  to  go  away — weeks  ago — and  I  would 
not  let  her.  I  did  not  wish  for  anything,  except  that  he 
should  know  I  cared  for  him.    I  did  not  want  him  to  care 


178  SKIRMISHING. 

for  me,  I  was  not  so  bad  as  that — I  felt  as  if  then  I  could 
go  away  happy.  I  could  not  bear  his  indiffereut  way  of 
speaking  to  me,  as  if  he  tried  to  do  me  good  just  as  he 
would  Larry  Earl,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  for  his  conscience' 
sake.  I  wished  to  do  right,  and  yet,  I  can't  tell  how  it 
was,  I  longed  for  something  to  happen  that  would  let  me 
do  wrong." 

"  Poor  dear  child  !  poor  dear  child  !"  murmured  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  went  on  Georgey,  with  a  dry  sob  checking 
her  words,  "  I  used  to  hide  among  the  trees  on  the  Castle 
Hill,  and  see  him  coming  here  and — and — it  was  like  as 
if  some  evil  spirit  got  into  me.  I  could  have  killed  him 
sometimes,  and  in  my  heart  I  wished  evil  to  him  and  Miss 
Maud,  and  then  1  would  cry  and  pray;  yes,  I  did  pray  God 
to  make  him  happy.  I  could  not  go  away  for  ever  with- 
out seeing  him,  1  did  not  dare  to  go  to  his  lodgings ;  I 
believe  I  was  half  mad  when  I  ran  away  from  the  steamer; 
I  walked  all  the  way  back  and  I  didn't  feel  tired.  I  met 
Larry  Earl,  and  I  frightened  him  with  lucifcr  matches  to 
get  rid  of  him,  and  then  I  went  home.  I  knew  the  pantry 
window  would  not  fasten,  and  I  squeezed  through  it  into 
the  house.  1  did  not  sleep  all  night," — hero  there  came 
a  breathless  pause,  then  hastily — "  I  longed  to  do  some- 
thing that  would  make  him  sufl'er."  .  .  .  Georgey  lay  back, 
f anting  on  the  sofa  on  which  she  was  resting,  "and  now, 
have  disgraced  myself  for  ever,  and  1  can't  bear  any  to 
look  at  me  but  you.  Miss  Maud  is  so  good,  so  happy,  I 
try  not  to  mind,  but  it  gives  me  pain  to  see  her.  Arc  yon 
angry  with  me  ?"  she  asked,  as  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  turned 
her  head  aside  to  wipe  her  eyes ;  "  pray  don't  be,  I  am 
not  worth  being  angry  with,  no  more  than  a  poor  worm." 

"  Angry !  poor  child,"  and  Mrs.  Lescrimifere  put  her 
arms  round  the  small  figure,  smaller  than  ever  now. 

"Don't  let  him  hate  me,  don't,  oh!  pray  don't,"  whis- 
pered Georgey;  "tell  liira  1  will  romcmlnsr  all  he  has  said 
to  me,  I  will  go  to  church,  I  will  try  to  be  good,  and  then 
he  will  forgive  mo." 

"  There's  no  question  of  forgiveness  between  him  and 
vou,  (jeorgey  ;  he  is  grieved  at  your  imprudence,  but  be 
nas  never  spoken  of  you  save  with  kindness." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Georgey,  very  softly ;  emotion  had 
qnitc  taken  away  her  voice. 


GONE.  119 

Mrs.  Lescrimibrc  perceived  how  well  it  was  tliat 
Georgey  was  to  leave  Edea  directly  :  with  the  caress  of  a 
tender  mother  she  said  cheerfully, 

"  You  will  begin  from  to-day,  from  this  moment  to  act 
so  as  to  give  Mr.  Escott  the  best  of  rewards  for  the 
interest  he  has  shown  in  you — tliat  of  knowing  you  are 
brave  in  well-doing,  forgetting  yourself  to  comfort  your 
mother." 

Gcorgey's  face  lighted  up  at  these  words. 

"But  how  will  he  know?"  she  asked  with  the  persis- 
tence of  a  child. 

Mrs.  Lescrimifere  was  one  who  believed  that  our  human 
affections  are  given  us  to  lead  us  to  spiritual  love:  further 
she  thoaght  that,  in  moral  maladies,  as  in  physical  ones, 
the  remedy  may  be  found  in  a  poison.  So  she  replied 
with  a  yearning  to  give  consolation, 

"  But  we  are  not  going  to  lose  sight  of  one  another 
altogether.  1  shall  write  to  you,  and  you  will  answer  my 
letters,  and  whatever  progress  you  tell  me  you  have  made, 
I  will  mention  to  your  good  friend."  Georgcy's  head 
drooped.  The  idea  of  absence  so  plainly  stated  was  more 
than  she  could  bear.  "  Now,  dear  love,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere,  "  we  must  think  of  setting  off:  the  days  are 
short,  and  I  do  not  like  travelling  in  the  dark." 

"  So  soon  ?"  cried  Georgey,  with  a  gasp. 

"  Courage,  courage — come,  begin  your  task  of  conquer- 
ing self  at  once." 

"I  am  so  young, — only  sixteen.  I  have  been  such  a 
short  time  in  the  world,  and  it  seems  all  over  for 
me,"  said  Georgey,  with  the  piteous  face  of  a  sorrowful 
child. 

"  Very  short  time  indeed,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere, 
soothingly;  it  was  not  the  moment  while  the  wound  was 
yet  green,  to  speak  of  the  possibility  of  happiness.  "  You 
have  been  a  very  short  time  in  the  world,  and  I  have  been 
a  long  time,  yet  I  never  knew  but  that  doing  wliat  was 
right,  brought  peace." 

Georgey  did  not  hear  the  old  lady's  words. 

"  He  is  just  come  into  the  porch,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
with  eager  pleading  in  tlicm  fixed  on  Mrs.  Lescrimitire. 

*'  You  would  like  to  bid  him  good-bye,  Georgey  ?"  The 
girl  nodded.     "  "Well,  make  haste  and  put  on  your  dress." 


180  SKIRMISHING. 

Gcorgey  stared — the  few  days  slic  had  been  up,  she  had 
lain  on  the  sofa  in  a  dressing-go'svn  and  covered  with 
shawls.  Now,  one  of  jSlaud's  dresses  had  been  shortened 
for  her  to  wear  during  her  journey. 

"  No,  no,  no — not  dressed  as  a  girl,  let  him  come  and 
saj^  good-bye,  so,"  and  she  shrunk  down  among  her  heap 
of  wraps.  "  Pray  do,  I  want  just  to  say  thank  you. 
You  know  you  said  yourself  he  had  been  kind  to  me. 
I'll  go  away  quite  quietly  afterwards." 

"  Very  well,  so  be  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lescriraifere ;  she  could 
not  resist  the  anguish  of  the  girl's  look  and  voice. 

When  Escott  was  told  of  Georgey's  request,  he  said, — 

"  I  have  a  horror  of  leave-takings  and  scenes." 

"  Don't  refuse,  Walter,"  said  Maud. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  will  be  your  chaperone,"  said  Mrs.  Ijcscrimifere. 
"  Come,  it  will  only  be  a  disagreeable  five  minutes,  and  it 
will  rid  the  child  of  the  idea  that  vou  are  angrv  with 
her." 

As  they  were  going  upstairs  Escott  said, 

"And  what  am  1  to  call  her.  Miss  George  or  Miss 
Ijrown  ?" 

"You  need  not  call  her  by  any  name,"  replied  Mrs. 
Lcscrimifere  ;  "Ihc  least  said  will  be  best.  Tell  lier  you 
will  not  forget  Ium-  and  that  you  hope  to  hear  good  news, 
shake  hands  and  be  oil'." 

Nothing  but  Georgey's  head  was  visible  when  Escott 
went  up  to  the  sofa. 

"I  ain  come  to  wish  you  good-bye  and  a  pleasant  jour- 
ney," he  said. 

yhc  looked  up  quickly  at  him.  She  did  nut  know  all 
that  her  eyes  revealed.     She  did  not  speak. 

"  Mrs.  Lescrimi^rc  has  warned  me  tliat  we  are  only  to 
e.xchangc  farewells,"  went  on  Escott,  his  heart  as  well  as 
liis  voice  involuntarily  softening  at  the  sight  of  the  small 
pale  face  upturned  to  him.  "Wo  shall  often  have  good 
accounts  of  ynu  1  h(i]>e.  1  dare  say  some  of  your  friendn 
here  will  send  you  in  return  a  history  of  what's  goinuf  on 
in  the  parish.  1  am  sure  you  will  always  care  to  hear 
ibout  Eden." 

(jeorgey  tried  to  smile.  Ah  !  whoever  has  seen  such  fv 
'l)nsm  of  ])ain  on  a  human  countenance  will  understand 
what  Hcnt  Mrs.  LcscrimiiTc  to  thi-  wind-'w. 


GONE.  181 

"  Good-bye,  George,"  said  Escott  moved,  and  in  the 
liurry  of  new-bora  pity,  using  the  familiar  name  as  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

Georgey  could  hardly  raise  hers,  it  felt  as  heavy  as  lead, 
making  a  supreme  effort  she  dropped  it  into  his. 

"  Good-bye,  George." 

Iler  eyes  on  him  always,  but  no  word ;  he  turned  to 
look  at  her  again  as  he  reached  the  door,  always  her 
eyes  on  him — he  bowed  his  head. 

A  gasp  from  Georgey  told  Mrs.  Lcscrimifere  that  Escott 
was  gone — she  drew  the  girl's  head  to  her  bosom. 

"  It's  all  dark,"  muttered  Georgey,  "  dark,  I  can't  see." 


An  hour  after,  the  brougham  was  at  the  door,  Georgey 
already  in  it,  Mrs.  Lescrimifere's  foot  on  the  step,  when 
Charlie,  hot  and  breathless,  rushed  in  at  the  gate. 

"  Stop,  grandmamma  !"  he  whispered  to  her,  "  the 
policeman  is  waiting  just  opposite  the  school-house.  I'm 
sure  it  is  for  Georgey." 

"  Ay,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  "  well,  we  must 
take  the  top  road,"  and  then  to  the  coachman,  "  go  by  the 
common,  Thomas,  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

Thomas  understood,  and  made  the  old  horse  step  out 
his  best.  Thus  mother  and  daughter  at  last  escaped 
unmolested. 

On  that  evening,  Mr.  Greatorex  wound  up  his  day's 
conversation  by  exclaiming, 

"  Well,  who  would  ever  have  dreamed  of  Eden  being 
the  scene  of  such  adventures?" 

And  his  wife  observed, 

"  You  see,  mother,  that,  after  all,  I  w-as  right  in  my 
reluctance  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  Browns." 

The  case  was  very  much  against  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  and 
the  rector  felt  for  her ;  but  she  was  not  beaten  yet,  she 
answered, 

"No,  my  dear,  never  repent  of  a  kind  action,  however 
it  turns  out  for  yourself — never,  under  any  circumstances, 
repent  of  having  shown  kindness  to  those  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning.  Besides,  who  can  say  how  much 
the  unexpected  sympathy  and  fellowship  of  the  good, 
may  do  for  people  on  the  '  Edge  of  Dark,'  as  these  unlucky 


182  SKIRMISHING. 

Browus  M-ere  ?  Think  how  Escott  has  l^ronght  that  poor 
little  half-cracked  lamb  Georgey  into  the  fold.  No,  no, 
never  regret  having  done  a  kind  action." 

The  old  lady  had  said  this  with  her  usual  spirit  until 
she  spoke  of  Georgey — the  thought  of  the  poor  heart-sore 
thing,  made  her  eyes  fill ;  but  she  brisked  up  again  and 
added, 

"  I  am  rather  of  that  Irishman's  way  of  thinking,  who 
said.  '  "What's  the  use  of  standing  up  for  a  man  when  he's 
in  the  right — it's  when  he's  wrong  he  needs  you.' "  This 
sally  made  every  one  laugh.  Even  Escott,  had  he  thought 
her  wrong,  which  he  was  not  sure  that  he  did,  had  no 
heart  to  argue  with  the  kind  woman.  So  once  again 
granduiamma  got  the  best  of  it  in  a  skirmish. 

Though  a  fever  of  excitement  continued  to  burn  from 
the  nursery  down  to  the  kitchen,  it  was  nevertheless  a 
dull  Christmas  at  the  rectory.  There  Avas  no  Twelfth 
Night  party,  for  Mrs.  Greatorex  dreaded  being  catechized 
about  the  Browns,  and  then  dear  Carry  was  in  no  mood 
for  fun. 

One  evening,  it  might  be  a  week  or  ten  days  after  the 
Epi))hany,  Mrs,  Lescrimiere  sitting  at  her  own  side  of  the 
lire,  woke  Mr.  Greatorex  out  of  a  pleasant  nap,  and 
startled  the  children  into  silence  by  a  vehement,  "I 
thought  it  would  be  so,"  accompanied  by  a  noise  very 
like  tlie  stamp  of  a  loot, 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  drowsy  rector. 

"That  man  has  actually  escaped!"  and  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mi^re  significantly  tapped  her  newspaper. 

Mr.  (jlrealorex,  aware  that  his  mother-in-law  had  been 
watching  for  the  Bouverie  trial,  guessed  at  once  to  whom 
she  alluded,  and  o.xclaimed, 

"  AVhat  ?   Mr.  Bouverie  ran  aw.ay  ?" 

"  No,  worse,  the  jirosecution  is  drop])od.  the  laws  of 
England  seem  to  be  an  ingenious  contrivance  for  the 
escape  of  criminals.  It's  a  wonder  how  any  one  is  ever 
convicted  in  this  country.  All  1  have  to  say  is,  he  would 
not  liave  been  allowed  to  escape  sc()t-fr(M>  in  France." 

"  lOnglish  laws,  my  dear  madam,"  said  the  rector,  "are 
framed  rather  for  the  protection  of  tlie  innocent,  than  for 
lh«  condemnation  of  the  guilty." 

"1  am  sure  I  am  more  thankful  than  I  can  say,  that 


POST   SCRIPTUM.  183 

Mrs.  Brown's  story  is  not  to  go  the  round  of  the  papers," 
here  put  in  Mrs.  Greatorex,  adding  quickly,  with  a  shy 
glance  at  her  mother,  "  it's  a  comfort  to  think  that  poor 
Mrs.  Brown  may  go  where  she  likes  without  fear  of  the 
police." 

"  True,  but  the  guilty  has  triumphed,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Lescrimiere. 

No  one  took  up  the  gage  of  battle. 

At  evening  prayers  the  Rector  read  the  thirty-seventh 
Psalm,  all  of  it  most  emphatically,  but  laying  a  still 
stronger  emphasis  on  the  seventh  and  eighth  verses,  and 
also  on  the  following  words : 

"/  tnyself  have  seen  the  ungodly  in  great  power  and 
flourishing  like  a  green  hay-tree.  I  went  hy  and  lo  !  he 
was  gone  :  I  sought  him,  but  his  place  coidd  nowhere  he 
found." 


POST  SCRIPTUM. 

QUID    DATUR    A    DIVIS    FELICI    OPTATIUS    HORA  ? 

THE  soldier  falls,  his  place  is  filled  at  once,  no  gap  is 
seen  in  the  line.  The  vessel  cleaves  asunder  the  waves 
for  a  few  seconds ;  it  passes,  and  the  water  flows  on 
evenly  as  before.  Separations  occur,  no  break  in  our  life 
appears  ;  stringent  is  the  law  which  ordains  that  all  emo- 
tions shall  be  transient,  that  only  a  short  space  shall  be 
allotted  to  remembrance. 

Spring  had  returned,  the  crisp  ground  had  grown  yield- 
ing, the  earth  made  all  the  brighter  by  the  stern  rule  of 
winter.  See  here  a  bud,  and  there  a  bud,  and  now  there 
are  too  many  on  the  little  ruby-colored  twigs  for  us  to 
count — and  hark,  the  first  hoarse,  unpractised  notes  of 
birds,  mingle  with  tlie  lusty  cry  of  the  ploughman  to  his 
horses.  Escott  and  Maud  hold  many  a  consultation  in 
the  garden,  and  presently  they  go  to  the  copses  and  din- 
gles to  see  the  greatest  show  of  primroses  ever  seen : 
and  after  the  primroses  come  the  wood  anemones  and  the 
delicate  wood  sorrel  and  the  wonderfully  blue  hyacinths. 
Now,  an  exclamation  of  delight,  now  a  silence — and  then 


184  SKIRMISniNG. 

broken  talk  containing  more  eloquence,  and  a  great  deal 
more  to  the  point,  than  most  of  the  speeches  of  the  Par- 
liament then  sitting. 

Green  lanes  are  great  promoters  of  confidence,  and 
Maud  yielding  to  their  influence  was  gradually  enlighten- 
ing Escott  as  to  her  doubts  and  fears  during  the  last  year. 
AVas  she  silly  to  let  him  thus  see  her  innermost  feelings  ? 

The  result  was  very  agreeable  at  the  moment :  for  he 
used  the  weapons  she  placed  in  his  power  with  chivalrous 
generosity. 

One  day,  it  was  in  the  leafy  month  of  June,  she  assured 
him  he  would  find  her  a  poor  companion. 

"  Every  day,  Walter,"  says  she,  "  I  am  more  and  more 
shocked  by  my  deficiencies." 

He  begged  her  not  to  distrust  his  judgment  as  to  what 
he  himself  preferred.  Escott  was  leagues  away  from 
guessing  to  what  point  Maud  was  travelling. 

"I  have  just  finished  the  Life  of  Schiller,"  she  con- 
tinued ;  "  how  clever  all  the  women  were  that  he  knew.  I 
seem  scarcely  to  belong  to  the  same  species,"  and  Maud 
sighed,  and  then  blushed  as  she  added  with  a  certain 
inward  trepidation,  "  I  never  saw  any  one  like  those  des- 
criptions but  Mrs.  Brown." 

Hitherto  as  if  by  sonic  agreement  all  mention  of  the 
Browns  had  been  avoided  between  the  betrothed  pair — 
yet,  Maud,  though  declaring  to  herself  she  had  not  the 
tiniest  shred  of  jealousy  of  Mrs.  Brown  remaining  in  her 
possession,  hud  all  along  had  an  almost  uncontrollable 
desire  to  come  upon  the  tacitly  tabooed  topic,  with 
p]scott.  The  name  had  come  out  with  a  jerk,  and  now 
she  wished  it  unspoken.  She  was  frightened  lest  Escott 
should,  guess  wliat  had  given  rise  to  those  doubts  and 
fears  ho  had  been  just  now  so  tenderly  chiding  as  over 
humility ;  siie  fancied  he  must  be  able  to  read  her  folly 
in  her  face,  and  she  nervously  turned  from  him,  burying 
tlie  sharp  end  of  her  ])arasol  in  a  tuft  of  speedwell,  as  if 
anxious  for  ncilhing  else  l)ut  lo  dig  it  up. 

"  J'oor  Mrs.  JJrown  !"  said  Escott  breaking  the  silence, 
"  I  did  not  imagine  any  one  could  feel  envy  of  her." 

"  Not  envy,  oh,  no!  not  envy,  only  one  would  like  to 
be  able  to  Hjicak  ail  tliose  foreign  languages  and  talk  on 
Bubjects, — sensible  subjects,  as  she  did." 


POST   SCRIPTUM.  185 

"  Why,  my  dear  Maud,  if  at  nineteen  you  had  all  the 
acquirements  and  experience  of  Mrs.  Brown,  you  -would 
be  a  dreadful  little  alarming  prodigy." 

•'But  you  lilvcd  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Brown." 

"  So  I  do  sometimes  to  your  grandmother,  and  Maud, 
dear,  if  you  can't  be  as  satisfied  as  I  am  with  yourself  as 
you  are,  I  would  rather  you  resembled  your  grandmother, 
than  Mrs.  Brown." 

"  Oh !  Walter,  I  am  so  glad  you  do  admire  grand- 
mamma at  last ;  it  makes  me  quite  happy,  to  hear  you 
speak  so  of  her." 

Escott  stooped  and  gathered  the  poor  speedwell  she 
had  so  ruthlessly  attacked.  As  he  gave  it  to  her,  he 
took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  said  gravely  and  gently, 

"  From  the  day  I  asked  you  to  be  my  wife,  I  have  felt 
it  to  be  for  life  or  death  between  us.  Do  you  understand 
me,  Maud  ?" 

A  shy  and  contrite  "  Yes,"  was  the  answer. 

And  what  had  become  of  the  Browns  ?  Mrs.  Lescri- 
mifere  had  not  left  them  unaided.  Intimately  acquainted 
with  the  Pastor  of  Kaiserswerth,  she  had  obtained  for 
the  poor  hunted  down  creatures  a  peaceful  asylum  in  the 
institution  he  had  founded.  They  were  going  through 
the  training  that  was  to  fit  them  for  the  service  of  the 
sick  and  poor.  Mrs.  Brown  had  renounced  all  intercourse 
with  the  world  beyond  the  precincts  of  Kaiserswerth, 
except  in  her  calling  as  a  sick  nurse.  Gcorgcy  was  Mrs. 
Lescrimifere's  correspondent ;  she  wrote  frankly  of  her 
own  struggles  to  do  right,  and  to  remain  firm  to  her  good 
resolutions  ;  the  letters  were  very  touching  and  beautiful 
in  their  truthfulness.  Mrs.  Lescrimifere,  however,  only 
showed  them  to  Mrs.  Greatorex ;  and  the  two  ladies 
agreed  that  all  that  was  necessary  to  tell  the  rest  of  the 
family  was,  that  Georgey  was  going  on  as  well  as  could  be 
wished. 

It  was  in  July  that  Mrs.  Lescrimiferc  wrote  to  inform 
Georgey  of  Maud's  approaching  marriage.  In  her  answer 
Georgey  begged  to  be  told  the  day  fixed  for  the  wedding. 
Mr. had  promised  her  that  the  blue  flag  of  Kaisers- 
werth (the  sign  of  a  festival),  should  be  hoisted  in  honour 
of  the  event.  It  was  a  simple  little  note,  which  could  be 
shown  to   the   bride    and  bridegroom  elect — it  ended, 

16* 


18G  SKIRMISHING. 

•  Pray,  dear  madame,  thank  everybody  for  the  good  they 
have  done  me.  When  I  read  of  the  blessings  that  God 
gives  to  those  -who  have  been  kind  to  the  unfortunate,  1 
always  say  over  to  myself  all  your  names." 

Maud  had  received  the  very  proof  her  girlish  heart  had 
fixed  on  as  the  touchstone  of  Escott's  love.  He  had 
urged  that,  parsonage  or  no  parsonage,  they  s;hould  be 
married  without  further  waiting. 

••  We  shall  have  enough  for  bread  and  butter,"  said  Mr. 
Escott,  "  and  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Slater  does  not  cook  ill 
— it's  not  an  ugly  place,  is  it,  Maud  ?  In  summer,  the 
pond  beneath  the  elms,  and  the  cows  looking  at  them- 
selves in  it,  is  a  pretty  pastoral  scene." 

'•  And  give  up  your  fellowship  before  you  have  a  liv- 
ing ?     Oh,  Walter,  that  is  impossible." 

"You  are  very  prudent,  Maud,"  he  said,  half  crossly. 

Wasn't  this  a  delightful  accusation  horn  him  ?  No 
coaxing  could  have  been  so  charming  as  that  crossness. 

Mrs.  Greatorcx  listened  to  Escott's  proposition  out- 
wardly, with  appalling  gravity;  inwardly,  she  was  charmed 
that  her  son-in-law  had  lost  his  reason.  Mr.  Grcatorex 
laughed  and  pooh-poohed  the  notion. 

Interest  was  made  in  the  right  quarter;  even  heads  of 
colleges  and  stern  university  committees,  lose  some  of 
their  stoicism  to  mundane  delights,  Avhcn  the  dilemma  of 
a  young  couple  wishing  to  be  married,  and  having  noth- 
ing to  marry  on,  is  properly  brought  before  their  notice 
and  properly  backed.  Escott  was  presented  to  a  living 
on  whicli  he  ran  no  risk  of  starving  a  faniily. 

Maud  was  married  on  a  bright  August  day — it  was  a 
very  pretty  wedding.  Garlands  in  tlie  church,  flowers  on 
the  paths  thither.  As  the  newly-wedded  pair  drove  along 
the  road  skirting  the  rectory  garden,  on  the  way  to  their 
new  home,  Maud,  almost  blinded  l>y  the  natural  tears 
tliat  lillfd  licr  eyes,  sat  forward  in  the  carriage  to  see  all 
tl)(!  old  well-known  sights.  Caractacus,  the  roan  pony, 
was  standing  in  the  glebe  meadow,  surrounded  by  a  host 
of  poultry,  intent  on  roosting,  fleecy  ])urple  clouds  were 
already  gathering  in  the  western  sky,  the  light  was  bo- 
ll iiul  the  gray  church,  and  the  broad  yews  were  nearly 
black.  Suddenly  some  one  whistled,  and  by  an  associfu 
tion  of  ideas  bride  and  bridegroom  remembered,  Gcorgo 
IJrown. 


POST    SCIUPTUM.  18*7 

"  Poor  Georgey,"  said  Maud,  and  the  unshed  tears 
having  got  just  the  little  provocation  they  needed,  rolled 
rapidly  over  her  rosy  cheeks  ;  a  soft  shower  arising  from 
all  sweet  womanly  sympathies  and  emotions.  Escott 
even,  turned  his  head  aside  for  an  instant.  The  little 
iriiii  figure  once  so  familiar  a  daily  object,  seemed  to  rise 
up  before  him. 

"  Poor  George  !"  he  repeated  ;  adding,  "  It  is  very 
awful  to  see  how  the  sins  of  the  father  darken  the  life  of 
the  child.  But,  Maud,"  he  went  on,  after  a  little  thought, 
"  why  should  we  continue  to  call  her  '  poor  Georgey  ?'  she 
is  doing  well,  that  we  know,  and  she  is  so  young,  that  I 
dare  to  hope,  she  may  one  day  be  as  happy  as  we  are. 
We  must  really  break  ourselves  of  the  habit  of  calling 
her,  poor  Georgey." 


fE«  END. 


CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS 

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ABOUT'S  (E.)  MAN  WITH  THE  BROKEN  EAR. 

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The    Lite    of  Philidor,     Musician     and    Chess-Player.        By 
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I 


2  HENR V  HOL T  &'  CO.'S  CATALOGUE. 

AUERBACH'S  (B.)  NOVELS. 

The  Villa  on  the  Rhine.     A  Romance,  translated   from  the 

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the  first  part  of  it  seems  nearly  unexceptionable  ;  and  afterward,  in 
critical  passages,  such  as  Sonnenkamp's  confession,  where  a  certain 
vigor  and  swing  of  expression  are  necessary,  it  seems  to  us  at  once 
more  smooth  and  more  forcible  than  Mr.  Shackford's  version." — The 
Natiott. 

"  The  translation  of  the  work  is  thoroughly  satisfactory." — Galaxy. 

A  few  papers,  some  of  them  of  no  authority  whatever,  have  expressed 
conflicthig  opitiions  regarding  the  two  translations,  which  have  been 
diligetitly  quoted  by  interested  parties.  The  above  quotations  settle  the 
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edition  of"  The  Villa  on  the  Rhine  :" 

These  '  Villa  Stories'  are  models  of  simple,  picturesque,  pathetic 
narration ....  A  soft,  idyllic  atmosphere  lies  upon  his  pictures,  and  the 
rude  and  not  wholly  admirable  peasant  life  of  the  Black  Forest  is 
lifted  into  a  region  of  poetry. 

. . . ."  told  with  delightful  simplicity  and  naturalness.  The  engrav- 
ings are,  many  of  them,  very  quaint,  and  admirably  illustrate  the  text. 
It  is  on  the  whole  a  charming  book." — Boston  C'ommon-veallh. 

"  Many  charming  little  lyrics  are  scattered  about  in  these  stories, 
which  are  rendered  with  equal  simplicity  and  effect  ;  and  an  under- 
tone of  German  music  runs  through  the  whole  scries." — A'.  J".  Even- 
ing Post. 

BAIN'S  (ALEXANDER)  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR. 

A  Urief  Englisli  Cirammar,  on  a  Logical  Method.  l?y 
Alexander  Uain,  LL.l).,  Professor  in  the  University  of  Ab- 
erdeen (author  of  the  "  Emotions  and  the  Will,"  "  The  Senses 
and  the  Intellect,"  Treatises  on  Psychology,  Logic,  Rhetoric, 
etc.).  i6mo,  boards,  50  cents.  Specimens  to  teachers,  post- 
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PAR  T  I.  —EN  GLISH 


BAIN'S  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR— (C<?«^/««<r^.) 

In  this  ivork,  Prof.  Bain  has  ivrittcn  a  log-ical  English  Graiumar, 
showiitg  that  expression  and  reasoning  are  both  governed  by  the  same 
laws,  and  that,  therefore,  Grammar  should  be  studied  in  connection  with 
Logic.      The  book  offers  materials  for  such  a  course  of  study. 

Lately  published.  Used  already  at  Washington  and  Lee  Univer- 
sity, Virginia  ;  Hanipden-Sidney  College,  Va.;  Pavilion  Institute, 
Pavilion,  Kansas  ;  Nevvburgh  Institute,  N.  Y.;  Mt.  St.  Mary's  Col- 
lege, Emmettsburg,  Md.  ;  St.  Agnes'  Hall,  Albany,  N.  Y.  ;  Cortland 
(N.  Y.)  Normal  School  ;  St.  John's  Rectory,  Thomaston,  Maine,  etc., 
etc. 

From  Principal  \V.  C.  Collar,  Roxbury  Latin  School,  Mass. 

"  I  had  never  allowed  the  use  of  any  English  Grammar,  as  a  class- 
book,  in  the  school,  because  I  knew  of  none  that  seemed  constructed 
upon  correct  principles.  We  have  now  been  using  Bain's  for  about 
two  months,  with  a  class  of  boys  of  from  twelve  to  fourteen  years  of 
age,  and  I  am  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  excellence  of  its 
method  and  treatment.  I  intend  to  use  it  also  in  the  different  classes 
of  pupils  more  advanced,  for  which  it  seems  to  me  well  adapted." 

BALDWIN'S  (J.  L.)  SHORT  WHIST. 

The   Laws  of  Short  Whist.    Edited  by  J.    L.  Baldwin.    The 

Standard  adopted  by  the  London  Clubs.     And  a  Treatise  on  the 

Game,  by  J.  C.     i8mo,  appropriately  decorated,  f  i.oo. 

"  A  treatise  on  whist  as  attractive  and  clean  as  a  missal  belonging 
to  one  of  the  devotees  of  Mother  Church.  Having  been  for  thirty-six 
years  a  player  and  lover  of  the  game,  we  commend  the  book  to  a  be- 
ginner desirous  of  playing  well." — Boston  Commonwealth. 

B JOHNSON'S  (B.)  FISHER  MAIDEN. 

The  Fisher  Maiden.     By  Bjornstjerne   Bjorn.son.     Trans- 
lated by  M.  E.  NiLES.     i6mo.     $1.25. 

"  An  artist,  not  a  photographer,  he  draws  souls  more  than  faces,  and 
although  his  manner  is  as  expressive  as  can  be,  he  gives  you  a  good 
deal  of  thinking  to  do  on  your  own  account." — Athenaum. 

....•'  There  was  room  for  a  true  genius,  one  with  poetic  insight 
and  thorough  faith  in  the  simple  clement  at  his  command,  and  surely 
such  a  man  has  recently  arisen  in  BjiJrnson.  .  .  .  The  exquisite  emo- 
tions, apprehension  of  beautiful  truths  combined  with  musical  sympa- 
thies, constitutes  sometimes  a  faculty  in  itself,  and  yields  to  mankind 
a  lyrist  like  Tennyson  and  an  idyllic  thinker  like  Bjornson." — London 
Spectator. 

BRISTED'S  (C.  A.)  BROKEN  DOWN  CRITIC. 

Pieces    of    a    Broken-down    Critic.  By    C.    A.    Bristed. 

Fugitive  pieces  collected  in  1858,  and  privately  printed  in  Baden. 
8vo.     $2.50. 


HENRY  HOLT  5^  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 


BRINTON'S  (D.  G.)  MYTHS  OP  THE  NEW  WORLD. 

The  Myths  of  the  New  World.  A  Treatise  on  the  Symbolism 
and  Mythology  of  the  Red  Race  of  America,  By  Daniel  G. 
Erinton,  A.m.,  M.D.  Large-paper  edition  (only  fifty-six  copies 
printed).     $6.00.     The  \2.»io  edition  is  exhausted. 

"Dr.  Brinton  is  probably  the  first  American  who  has  specially 
treated  the  subject  of  Indian  mythology  in  a  thorough  and  scholarly 

way The  philosophical   spirit  in  which  it  is  written  is 

deserving  of  unstinted  praise,  and  justifies  the  belief  that,  in  whatever 
Dr.  Brinton  may  in  future  contribute  to  the  literature  of  Comparative 
Mythology,  he  will  continue  to  reflect  credit  upon  himself  and  his 
country." — North  American  Review. 

"When  we  consider  the  vastness  of  the  subject  and  its  inherent 
difficulties  .  .  .  we  cannot  do  otherwise  than  accord  high  praise  to 
the  author  for  diligent  research,  discriminating  criticism,  good  sense, 
and,  we  may  add,  a  large  charity.  He  has  placed  before  the  American 
people  what  ought  to  interest  'them  more  deeply  .  .  .  than  the 
entire  bulk  of  '  Lo-the-poor-Indian '  poetry,  with  the  Leather-Stocking 
tales  thrown  in." — Nation. 

CALVERLEY'S  (C.  S.)  FLY-LEAVES. 

Fly-Leaves.  By  C.  S.  C,  with  additions  from  the  autlior's  earlier 
volume  of  verses  and  Translations.  Third  edition,  with  a  new 
poem.      i6mo.     (Leisure-Hour  Series.)     $1.25. 

"  We  wish  that  some  of  those  prolific  small  poets,  against  whom  we 
are  forever  taking  up  our  parable,  would  write  as  good  poetry  in  earnest 
as  Mr.  Calverley  does  in  play.  .  .  .  This  is  excellent  fooling." — 
London  AthencFitm. 

"As  pleasant  a  book  of  light  humorous  poetry  as  we  have  seen  in  a 
long  time,  and  which  we  heartily  commend  to  the  attention  of  all  our 
readers . " — Nation. 

"The  little  book  deserves  to  be  read  from  cover  to  cover,  and  its 
proper  place  (we  may  say  for  once  with  fitness)  is  on  every  drawing- 
room  table." — Chatnbcrs  s  yoiirnal. 

OARLIER'S  (A.)  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  U.  S. 

Marriage  in  llie  United  States.      Translated  from  tlie  French  of 
August  Cari.ikr  by  Dr.  B.  Joy  Jeikriks.  lamo.   Cloth.  |i.oo. 

"The  .author  points  out  with  unshrinking  fidelity  the  faults  of  \vhich 
he  has  been  cognizant  in  ,\merican  domestic  life  ;  he  treats  of  delicate 
subjects  in  a  delicate  manner.  .  .  .  The  work  will  well  reward  an 
attentive  study." —  'I'ribune. 

"Some  of  his  trenchant  criticisms  upon  our  manners  and  customs 
will  serve  a  iiscfiil  purpose.  His  analysis  of  our  divorce  laws  is  pecu- 
liarly worthy  of  attention." — N.  Y.  Rvcning  Post. 


PART  I.— ENGLISH. 


CHERBULIEZ'  (VICTOR)  NOVELS. 

Count  Kostia.      A  Novel.     By  Victor  Cherbuliez.   Trans- 
lated by  O.  D.  Ashley.      i6mo.     (Leisure-Hour  Series.)    $1.25. 

"  A  great  and  deep  work  .  .  .  drawn  with  a  vivid  power  of  imagina- 
tion which  is  a  revelation  to  the  cooler  Anglo-Saxon  reader." — N.  Y. 
Evening  Mail. 

Joseph  Noirel's  Revenge.     Translated  by  Wm.  F.   West, 

A.M.      i6mo.     (Leisure-Hour  Series.)     $1.25. 

"In  reading  Joseph  Noirel,  one  feels  that  our  ordinary  English 
novels  are  very  superficial.  The  French  novel  is  the  work  of  a 
thinker  as  well  as  a  delineator  of  character." — Boston  Globe. 

Prcsper.     Translated   by   Carl   Benson.      (In   preparation, 
Aug.  1873.) 

COLERIDGE'S    BIOGRAPHIA    LITERARIA. 

Biographia  Literaria,  or  Biographical  Sketches  of  my  Literary 
Life  and  Opinions.    By  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge.    Prepared 

for  publication  in  part  by  the  late  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge.  Com- 
pleted and  published  by  his  widow.     2  vols,  large  i2mo.     $5.00. 

"  The  edition  is  very  much  more  than  a  reproduction  of  Coleridge's 
own  work,  and  its  value  to  students  of  the  place  and  influence  of 
Coleridge  in  modern  culture  cannot  be  too  strongly  stated.  The 
publishers  have  given  it  an  elegant  dress,  and  we  have  no  doubt  that 
they  will  receive  the  thanks  of  many  of  our  younger  students,  who  are 
now  able  to  place  among  their  choice  books  a  very  choice  copy  of  a 
work  so  important." — College  Courant. 

CORSON'S  (HIRAM)  SAXON   AND  EARLY  ENGLISH. 

A    Hand-book   of   Anglo-Saxon   and    Early    English.       With 
Notes,  Glossary,  and  Grammatical  Synopses.   By  Hiram  Corson, 
M. A.,  Professor  in  Cornell  University.     Post  8vo.     $3.00. 
Since   the  publication   of  the  first   edition   the   work  has   been 
thoroughly  rez'ised. 

The  text-book  at  Yale,  Cornell,  and  similar  institutions. 

An  attempt  to  furnish  the  student  with  such  reading  material  as  will 
enable  him  to  trace  the  development  of  the  English  language  from  the 
purest  existing  form  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  or  Anglish,  down  to  the  end 
of  the  XlVth  century,  when  the  language  had  become  essentially  the 
same  as  that  of  the  present  day.  The  selections,  it  is  believed,  will 
prove  sufficiently  abundant,  if  thoroughly  mastered,  to  serve  as  a  basis 
for  the  fullest  course  of  English  Philology  that  can  be  made  practicable 


HENRY  HOLT  &=  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 


CORSON'S  (HIRAM)  SAXON  AND  EARLY  ENGLISH. 

— {CoiitiiiHcJ .) 

in  our  High-schools  and  Colleges,  as  they  are  at  present  constituted. 
The  aim  has  been,  in  making  up  the  book,  to  choose  such  passages 
from  the  works  represented,  as  are  both  interesting  in  matter  and  man- 
ner, and  philologically  valuable.  A  greater  t'(7;'/iV_v  of  selections  might 
easily  have  been  made,  but  the  Editor's  decision  was,  that  the  real 
purposes  of  an  educational  text-book  of  this  kind  woidd  be  better  sub- 
served by  fewer  extracts  of  considerable  length,  and,  as  far  as  possible, 
'hy  complete  productions,  representing  the  best  form  of  the  language  at 
different  periods,  than  by  tid-bits  that  would  give  no  idea  of  the  general 
style  of  a  work. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  Gospel  of  St.  John  has  been  given  entire. 

./Elfric's  Homily  on  the  Birthday  of  St.  Gregory  has  been  printed  in 
the  so-called  Anglo-Saxon  character,  that  the  student  may  not  be  at  a 
loss  when  he  meets  with  any  work  or  cited  passage  in  which  that 
character  is  used. 

Selections  are  also  given  from  King  Alfred's  Anglo-Saxon  version  of 
Boethius  de  Consolatione  I'hilosophia'  ;  The  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle  ; 
Layamons  Brut ;  The  Ancrcn  Riwle ;  The  Ormulum  ;  Rol)crt  of 
Gloucester's  Chronicle  ;  Dan  Michel's  Ayenbite  of  Inwyt ;  Sir  John 
Maundeville  ;  Trcvisa's  Translation  of  Ralph  Higden's  Polychronicon  ; 
Piers  Plowman  ;  Pierce  the  Ploughman's  Crede  ;  Wycliffite  Versions 
of  the  Bible;  Chaucer;  Gowcr's  Confessio  Amantis. 

The  Grammatical  Synopsis  will  be  found,  it  is  hoped,  to  contain  all 
that  is  necessary  to  be  known  before  beginning  to  read.  Only  normal 
forms  are  given.    All  irregularities  will  be  found  in  the  Glossary. 

The  Glossary  has  been  prepared  on  a  grammatical  basis,  the  Editor's 
endeavor  having  been  to  furnish  the  student  with  all  the  aid  requisite 
for  a  thorough  preparation  of  the  lesson  assigned  him,  while  at  tlie 
same  time  the  aid  is  not  too  ready  at  hand,  in  the  shape  of  notes,  to 
render  a  wliolesome  effort  on  his  part  unnecessary. 


COX'S  (REV.  G.  W.)  MYTHOLOGY. 

A  Manual  of  Mythology,     In  the  form  of  question  and  answer. 
l?y  Rev.  G.  W.  Cox,  M.A.      i6mo.     Tlhistratcd.     .$1.00. 

"  Having  undertaken  to  tell  what  can  be  told,  in  two  hundred  pages, 
of  classical  mythology,  lie  has  chosen  the  most  imiiortnnt,  the  most 
instructive,  and  the  most  attractive  jiorlions  of  his  subject." — Max 
Muller. 

"  Mr.  Cox  deserves  the  best  thanks  of  educational  reformers  for  his 
boldness  in  putting  mythology  in  the  sort  of  dress  it  will  wear  to  our 
children." — Spectator. 

"  In  a  former  article  we  did  our  best  to  warn  schoolmasters,  govern- 
esses, and  conscientious  mothers,  against  Hort's  Manual  of  Nlythol- 
ogy.  'We  are  glad  that,  after  telling  them  what  to  avoid,  we  can 
likewise  tell  them  what  to  choose.  Mr.  Cox's  Manual  of  Mythology  is 
the  work  of  a  scholar  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  sources  of  classical 
mythology." — Saturday  h'crnnv. 


PART  I.— ENGLISH. 


CRAIK'S  (G.  M.)  FAITH   UNWIN'S    ORDEAL. 

Faith  Unwin's  Ordeal.     A  Novel.     IJy  Georgiana  M.  Craik, 
Author  of  "Lost  and  Won."      i6mo.     $1.25. 

CRAVEN'S  (MME.  A.)  FLEURANGE. 

Fleurange.     A    Novel,    translated    from   the    Frencli    by   M. 

M.  R.      i6mo.     (Leisure-Hour  Series.)     $1.25. 

"  Mme.  Craven's  works  are  not  'goody.'  They  are  profoundly 
religious.  But  they  strike  deeper  into  human  nature,  they  touch 
more  subtly-sounding  chords  than  those  which  are  stirred  by  our 
English  '  refigious  '  novel-writers.  The  episode  of  La  Mere  Madeleine 
is  a  remarkable  study  for  its  touching  and  eloquent  beauty."— Z(7«(/(3« 
Spectator. 

"  •  Fleurange  '  is  notable,  not  only  for  its  intense  interest,  its  pathos, 
its  simple  and  unadorned  style,  but  for  several  excellent  sketches  of 
Italian,  German,  and  Russian  life  and  character." — London  Graphic. 

CRITICAL    AND    SOCIAL    ESSAYS. 

Reprinted  from  the  A''^^  Fc;r/' A'a/'/(?«.      i6mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"All  are  entertaining,  clever,  and  well  written  ;  and  some  of  them 
deserve  the  higher  praise  of  being  the  condensed  statement  of  vigor- 
ous thought  upon  questions  of  practical  importance.  The  value  of 
these  essays  is  not  purely  literary,  but  consists  much  more  in  the  re- 
flection they  afford  of  the  best  thinking  and  temper  of  the  times  in  their 
sympathetic  and  intelhgent  criticisms  of  prevailing  forms  of  life.  We 
trust  that  this  is  but  the  first  of  a  series  of  similar  volumes."— A'w'/A 
American  Review. 

DROZ'    (GUST AVE)    NOVELS. 

Around  a  Spring.    A  Novel.    By  GusTAVE  Droz.  Translated 
by  MS.     i6mo.     (Leisure- 1 1  our  Series.)      New  edition,  revised. 

I1.25. 

"  .  .  .  .  Amasterpieceof  fiction,  simple  and  pathetic.  We  shall  not 
give  an  analysis  of  the  novel,  which  it  is  so  easy  to  get,  but  shall  con- 
tent ourselves  with  praising  its  great  merits." — Nation. 

Babolain.     A   Novel.     By  Gustave  Droz.      Translated  by 

MS.    i6mo.    (Leisure-Hour  Series.)     $1.25. 

"  '  Babolain"  is  the  work  of  a  master.  There  is  nothing  cheap  or 
tawdry  about  it ;  the  incidents  and  plot  are  kept  well  in  hand  and  the 
characters  arc  sketched  with  nervous,  subtle  power  ....  English  and 
American  readers  cannot  fail  to  be  struck,  and  at  least  intellectually 
entertained,  by  its  brilliancy." — Liberal  Christian. 


8  HENRY  HOLT  ^^  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 

EIOHENDORF'S   (J.)   GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

Memoirs  of  a  Good-Foi-Nothing.  A  Novel  of  the  German  Ro- 
mantic School.  By  Joseph  Von  Eichendorf.  Translated  by 
Charles  G.  Leland.  With  Illustrated  Title-page  and  Vig- 
nettes, by  E.  B.  Bensell.      i2mo.     $1.50. 

FISKE'S  (JOHN)  TOBACCO  AND  ALCOHOL. 

Tobacco  and  Alcohol.  I.  It  Does  Pay  to  Smoke.  II.  The  Com- 
ing Man  Will  Drink  Wine.  By  John  Fiske,  M.A.,  LL.B. 
i6mo.     $1.00. 

"Writing  as  he  does,  in  the  interest  of  temperance,  as  opposed  alike 
to  the  mistaken  narrowness  of  view  of  the  well-meaning  teetotaller,  and 
*.he  habit  of  excess  found  in  the  unstrung  or  underbred  man,  he  claims 
our  sympathy,  as  in  all  things  does  he  who  advocates  the  use  of  all 
things  in  place  of  their  disuse." — Liberal  Christian. 

"A  clear  exposition  of  scientific  conclusions,  based  upon  the  latest 
researches  in  the  department  of  physiology,  pathology,  and  hygiene. 
....  It  is  not  the  work  of  a  partisan,  but  it  is  that  of  a  careful  and  im- 
partial scholar  whose  sole  object  is  truth." — Boston  Transcript. 

TTTB   CENTURIES   OF   ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Five  Centuries  of  the  Englisli  Language  and  Literature.  Vol- 
ume CCCCC  of  tlie  Tauchnitz  Collection  with  a  preface  by  the 
Baron  Von  Tauchnitz.     i  vol.      i6mo.     $1.00. 

"A  book  whicl),  in  older  classes,  a  skilful  teacher  can  make  most 
interesting.  At  a  moderate  cost,  the  young  student  has  here  at  com- 
mand the  text  of  '  Wycliffe's  version  of  St.  John,' one  of  Chaucer's 
'  Cantcrljury  Tales,'  extracts  from  Mawes,  Thomas  More,  Sjienser, 
ben  Jonson,  Locke,  and,  finally,  'I'homas  CSray.  The  careful  iH-rusal 
of  this  little  volume  would  be  no  bad  introduction  to  the  history  of 
English." — Nation. 

FLEURY'S    (L.)    ANCIENT   HISTORY. 

Ancient  History  told  to  Children.  By  Lami5  Fi.EITRY,  trans- 
lated by  Susan  M.  Lane.      i2mo.     90  cents. 

Probably  no  scries  of  Histories  for  the  Young  was  ever  more  pop- 
ular than  I>amo  l'"Icury's  now  is  in  I'Vancc.  The  author  possesses  the 
rare  knacit  of  l)cing  childlike  without  being  childisli.  The  "  I  listoire  de 
France,"  published  here  in  the  original  some  years  ago,  is  already  cjuite 
a  favorite.  The  "Ancient  History  "  marks  the  first  attempt  to  intro- 
duce the  achnirablt!  series  in  l'"nglish. 

The  value  of  this  edition  is  increased  for  many  pupils,  and  dimin- 
ished fornon<',by  tlic  addition  of  :i  few  jiages  of  notes,  to  help  the  pupil 
translate  llie  volume  back  into  I-'rench. 


PART  I.— ENGLISH. 


FOUQUE'S  (BARON)   WORKS. 

Undine,  Sintiam,  Aslauga's  Knight,  and  the  Two  Captains. 
By  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque.  Together  in  i  vol.  Gilt  top, 
bevelled  edges.    $1.25. 

FREEMAN'S  (EDWARD  A.)  HISTORICAL  COURSE. 

It  is  hoped  in  time  to  take  in  short  histories  of  all  the  chief 
countries  of  Europe  and  America.  Those  of  England  and  Scot- 
land are  ready,  and  authors  are  at  work  on  other  parts  of  the  plan. 
All  the  works  will  be  edited  by  Mr.  Freeman,  and  adapted  for 
the  use  of  American  students. 

1.  Outlines  of  History.  By  Edward  A.  Freeman,  D.C.L. 
i6mo.   fi.25. 

"  I  like  the  book  exceedingly  .  .  .  There  is  none  of  the  lumber  in 
it  which  so  abounds  in  works  of  this  class." — Prof.  A.  M.  Wheeler, 
Yale  College. 

"  By  far  the  best  outline  of  General  History  which  has  appeared  in 
this  country." — Pres.  y.  T..  Chatnhcrlaiii ,  Bo7vdoin  College. 

"  If  your  Historical  Course  for  Schools  by  F'reeman  should  be  car- 
ried out  according  to  the  promise  of  the  first  number,  I  think  it  would 
be  better  adapted  to  convey  a  knowledge  of  history  to  the  young  than 
anything  we  now  have." — Pres.  Mark  Hopkins,  Williams  College. 

"  There  can  be  no  question  that  it  will  supersede  the  totally  inade- 
quate text-books  which  the  schools  have  been  using  only  for  the  want 
of  any  that  are  better."— Prof.  y.  R.  Soley,  U.  S.  Naval  Academy. 

"  Superior,  in  my  opinion,  to  any  similar  work  which  has  fallen  undei 
my  observation." — Pres.  A^.  T.  I.i/J>/on,  University  of  Alabama. 

"The  writer  has  the  rare  gift  of  emphasizing  the  points  on  which 
the  narrative  hinges.  .  .  He  has  written  his  book  with  the  difficulties 
and  wants  of  students  fullv  in  \\e\\."— Principal F.  W.  Tilton,  Phillips 
Academy,  Andover. 

2.  England.     15y   Miss  Edith   Thompson.     i6mo.     $1.00. 

(Just  ready.) 

"Miss  Thompson's  little  book,  which  has  been  edited  by  Mr. 
Freeman,  is  deserving  of  high  praise.  We  do  not  agree  with  all  the 
writer's  views  ;  but,  upon  the  whole,  this  manual  is  the  best  sketch  of 
English  history  for  the  use  of  young  people  that  we  have  yet  met 
with." — London  Atheneeian. 

FREYTAG'S     (GUSTAV)     NOVELS. 

Ingo.  The  first  novel  of  a  series  entitled  "  Our  Fore- 
fathers," by  GusTAV  Freytag,  author  of  "Debit  and  Credit," 
"  The  Lost  Manuscript,"  etc.  Translated  from  the  German  by 
Mrs.  Malcolm.      i6mo.    (Leisure-Hour  Series^)    fi.25. 


lO  HENR Y  HOLT  ^  CO:s  CA TALOG UE. 

FREYTAG'S  (GUSTAV)  NOVELS— ( Cf^w/Zw//^^/. ) 

Ingraban.   The  second  novel  of  a  series  entitled   "Our  Fore- 
fathers," by  GusTAV  Freytag,  author  of  "  Debit  and  Credit," 
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Other  NOi'cls  of  this  scries  li'ill  folhnv. 

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and  Martin.  i6mo,  gilt.  (See  Library  of  Foreign  Poetry.) 
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Elective  Affinities.  A  Novel.  i6mo.  (Leisure- Hour  Series.) 
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Faust.     Translated  by  Anster.     i6mo,  gilt.     $1.25. 

GOSTWICK  So  HARRISON'S  GERMAN  LITERATURE. 

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The  book,  though  mainly  serviceable  for  reference,  is  written  in  a  style 
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GOULD'S  (REV.  S.  B.)  LEGENDS  of  the  PATRIARCHS. 

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The  Congrf^ittionalist. 


PART  I.— ENGLISH.  ii 

GOULD'S  LEGENDS  of  the  PATRIARCHS— ( C^;/y/««^^. ) 

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GUERIN'S  (MAURICE)  JOURNAL. 

The  Journal  of  Maurice  de  Guerin.  With  an  Essay  by'MAT- 
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man  whose  character  and  genius  were  peculiar  and  loftv." — Round 
Table. 

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JVatton. 

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HADLEY'S  (PROF.  JAS.)  ESSAYS. 

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Issued  too  lately  to  have  been  adquately  reviewed. 

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ness of  memory,  in  penetration  and  justness  of  judgment,  I  have 
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the  opinion  of  all  who  knew  him  most  fully,  America's  best  and  sound- 
est philologist." — From  the  Preface  of  Prof .   W.  D.   Whitney. 

HARDY'S  (THOMAS)  NOVELS. 
A  Pair  of  Blue   Eyes. 

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sion, and  an  artist's  eye  for  every  aspect  of  nature." — London  Spectator. 


12  HENRY  HOLT  ^  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 

HARDY'S  (THOMAS)  T^OVEl^^— {Continued.) 
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the  earlier  and  best  pages  of  George  Eliot." — Lotidon  Standard. 

HARRISON. 

(See  Gostwick.) 

HAWEIS'  (REV.  H.  R.^  THOUGHTS  FOR  THE  TIMES. 

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"  It  contains  much  to  interest,  entertain,  and  instruct ;  .  .  .  . 
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HEINE'S    (HEINRICH)  WORKS. 

Scintillations. 

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Even  ill _i;  liiiltetin, 

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is  one  of  the  best  from  whose  works  to  glean.  His  pages  sparkle 
with  detached  diamonds.  A  sentence  liglus  up  a  whole  chapter." — 
Hartford  Pout. 

"  'I'he  book  is  exceedingly  entertaining,  and  should  find  many 
readers,  for  Heine's  wit  lived  after  him,  and  cant  and  luimlnig  arc  not 
dead,  and  his  utterances  arc  as  ajiplicable  to  them  to-day  as  ever 
they  were." — Boston  Trave/ter. 


HENRY  HOLT  &-  CO.'S  CATALOGUE.  13 

HEINE'S  (HEINRIOH)  WQ-EKS— {Continued.) 

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Pearls  from  Heine.     Translations  by    Furness,    Bowring, 

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Longfellow,  J-   W.   Montclair,  T.   Embley  Osmun,   and 

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HERTZ'S    laNG   RENE'S   DAUGHTER. 

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"  A  welcome  gift  to  our  literature." — Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

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HOME'S  (D.  D.)  INCIDENTS. 

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Incidents  of  my  Life.    II.  Series. 

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choicest  productions  of  elegant  literature.  .  .  .  His  book  every- 
where betrays  the  presence  of  high  lireeding  and  high  principle  ;  its 
tone  is  that  of  sane  discij^line  and  generous  aims,  and  no  one  can 
breathe  its  wholesome  atmosphere  without  refreshment  and  renewal 
of  mental  equipoise." — N.  V.  Tribune. 


14  HENRY  HOLT  ^  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 


HOUGHTON'S  (LORD)  MONOGRAPHS-^(C^«^/«7/^</.) 

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Monographs    Political    and    Literary.        (In    preparation, 

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It  is  a  book  to  be  welcomed  in  any  home." — A".   Y.  Times. 


PART  I.— ENGLISH.  15 

KALEVALA    (SELECTIONS    FROM    THE). 

Selections  from  tlie  Kalevala.    Translated  from  a  German  version 

by    John  A.  Porter,    M.  D.,   late  Professor  in  Yale  College, 

With  an  introduction  and  an  analysis  of  the  poem.      i6mo.     Gilt. 

(See  Library  of  Foreign  Poetry.)    $1.50. 

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world."— J// V  Mi'dlt-r. 

KINGSLEY'S    (HENRY)    STRETTON. 

Stretton.       A    Novel.      By    Hexrv    Kingsley,    author    of 

"  Ravenshoe,"    "  Geoffrey  Hamlyn,"   etc.       With   illustrations. 

8vo.     Cloth.     1 1.  GO. 

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T'nnes. 

KORTUM'S  (DR.  C.  A.)  JOBSIAD. 

The  Jobsiad.     A  Grotesco-Comico- Heroic  Poem.     Translated 
from  the  German  by  Chas.  T.  Brooks.   i6mo.     $1.50. 

liEISURE-HOUR  SERIES. 

A  collection  of  works  whose  character  is  light  and  entertaining, 
though  not  trivial.  While  they  are  handy  for  the  pocket  or  the 
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"  These  are  cool  and  tasteful  outside,  and  variously  attractive  within; 
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past." — Boston  Transcript. 


About,   E.      The  Man    with    the 

Broken  Ear. 
Calverley,  C.  S.  Fly-Leaves.  A 

volume  0/  verses. 
Cherbnliez,     Victor.       Joseph 

Noirel's  Revenge  ;  Count  Kos- 

tia ;  Prosper. 
Craven,  Mine.    A.     Fleurange. 
Droz,      Gustave.         Babolain  ; 

Around  a  Spring. 


Frcytag,  Gnstav.  Ingo;  Ingra- 
ban. 

Goethe,  J.  "W.  Von.  Elective 
Afifinitics. 

Hardy,  Thos.  Under  the  Green- 
wood Tree;  A  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 

Heine,  Heinricli.  Scintillations 
from  the  Prose  Works. 

Jenkin,Mrg.  C.  Who  Breaks — 
Pays. 


i6 


HENRY  HOLT  ^^  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 


LEISURE-HOUR  SERIES— ( Continued. ) 


My  Little  Liady. 

Palgrave,  \V.  G.  Hermann 
Agha. 

Parr,  Lioalsa.  {Author  of  " Dor- 
othy Fox.")   Hero  Carthew. 

Slip  in.  tlie  Fens  (A). 


What  the  Swal- 


Spiellxagen,  F. 

low  Sang. 
TurgenielF,  Ivan.  Fathers  and 


Sons  ;    Smoke  ;    Liza  ; 
Eve  ;  Dimitri  Roudine. 
AVooing  O't  (The). 


On   the 


LELAND'S   (CHAS.  G.)   LEGENDS   OF   THE   BIRDS. 

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LESSING'S    (G.  E.)   NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

Nathan  the  Wise.  A  dramatic  poem,  by  Gotthold  Ephraim 
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LIBRARY   OF    FOREIGN    POETRY. 

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PART  I.  —ENGLISH.  1 7 

MARTINEAU'S  (H.)  BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCHES. 

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OF  Prussia,  The  Duchess  of  Kent. 

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Character  in  History  ?  In  Romance  ?  Your  idea  of  Happiness  ?  Of 
Misery  ?  If  not  yourself,  who  would  you  rather  be  ?  Your  Motto  ? 
etc.  • 

2 


i8  HENRY  HOLT  &-  CO.'S  CATALOGUE. 

MENTAL  PHOTOGRAPH  MSS^J"^— {Continued.) 

There  are  two  editions.  I.  For  76  "  Photographs  "  of  23  questions 
each,  called,  on  account  of  the  comparative  brevity  of  the  "  Mental 
Photographs,"  the  Carte-dc-visite  Edition.  This  edition  will  be  pre- 
ferred by  those  to  whom  the  album  is  a  comparative  novelty.  II.  For 
38  Photographs  of  40  questions  each, — called,  because  each  mental 
photograph  is  of  fuller  dimensions  than  those  of  the  other  edition, 
the  "Imperial"  edition.  This  edition  will  be  preferred  by  the 
enthusiasts. 

MILL'S  (JOHN  STUART)  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS. 

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The  Autobiography.      1  vol. 

Dissertations  and  Discussions.    4  vols. 

Considerations  on  Representative  Government,     i  vol. 

Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy.  2  vols. 

On  Liberty;  The  Subjection  of  Women.     Both  in  i  vol. 

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Memorial  Vol.    John  Stuart  Mill :  His  Life  and  Works. 

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ing books  of  travel  wc  have  read  for  a  long  time.  The  author's  style 
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nature    and    sensitiveness    to   every    impression  from  witliout  of  our 


PART  I.— ENGLISH.  19 


MORELET'S  (A.)  CENTRAL  AMERICA— ( C(7«//;/«^^. 

great  sentimentalist  among  writers  on  natural  history,  Audubon.  .  . 
Perhaps  the  best  and  most  extended  sketches  of  the  plants  and  ani- 
mals of  this  region  that  we  possess.  .  .  His  descriptions  are  evi- 
dently truthful,  as  he  seems  penetrated  with  true  scientific  spirit. 
,  .  M.  Morclet  makes  occasional  reflections  of  great  interest  in  re- 
lation to  the  relics  of  the  ancient  civilization.  He  does  much  towards 
removing  the  mystery  of  the  origin  of  the  structures  whose  ruins  are 
now  scattered  over  the  country."— A^^/zow. 

MOSCHELES'  (IGNATZ)  RECENT  MUSIC  AND  MU- 
SICIANS. 

Recent  Music  and  Musicians,  as  described  in  the  Diaries 
and  Correspondence  of  Ignatz  Moscheles.  Selected  by  his  wife, 
and  adapted  from  the  original  German  by  A.  D.  Coleridge. 
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volume.  It  is  a  personal  history  of  music  for  sixty  years  of  this  cen- 
tury— full  of  the  names  of  artists  and  composers,  each  of  them  a  centre 
of  pleasurable  emotions." — Examiner. 

"  Full  of  pleasant  gossip.  The  diary  and  letters  between  them  con- 
tain notices  and  criticisms  on  almost  every  musical  celebrity  of  the 
last  half  century." — Pcill  Mall  Gazette. 

MY  LITTLE  LADY. 

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"  Sure  to  make  a  great  mark  in  fiction." — ^V.  V.  Evening  Post. 

PALGRAVE'S  (W.  G.)  HERMANN  AGHA. 

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day  for  its  Arab  philosophy." — London  AthcncEum. 

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Hero    Cartlievv.     A    Novel.      By    Louisa    Parr,   author  of 

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"  A  very  charming  novel.  .  .  .  By  far  the  healthiest  little  love- 
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20  HENRY  HOLT  Q;'  CO.'S  CATALOGUE. 

PERCY'S  RELIQUES. 

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We  have  great  admiration  of  tlie  book,  and  feel  great  respect  for  the 
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"  It  is  rarely  the  fortune  of  a  young  man  to  have  so  good  a  tale  to 
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Review. 

"  Interesting  and  instructive  throughout." — Atlantic  Monthly. 

"  Crowded  with  entertainment  and  instruction.  A  careful  read- 
ing of  it  will  give  more  real  acquaintance  with  both  the  physical  geo- 
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hemispheres  than  perhaps  any  other  book  in  existence." — A'.  V.  Even- 
ing Post. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  and  intelligent  books  of  travels  that 
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Vjuy,  let  it  be  this." — /rentvus  (^Rcv.  Dr.  Prime)  in  A'ew  York  Obser- 
ver. 

RICHTER'S    (E.)    CO-OPERATIVE    STORES. 

Co-operative  Stores:  tlieir  History,  Organization,  and  Manage- 
ment. Based  on  the  recent  German  work  of  Iu'gkne  Richtek. 
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Germany Tlie  story  is  as  remarkable  for  its  historical  fidelity 

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PART  I.— ENGLISH.  21 


SEWELL'S  (MRS.  E.  M.)  DICTATION  EXERCISES. 

Dictation  Exercises.  By  Mrs.  E.  M.  Sewell  (author  of  "Amy 
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Young  Persons,"  etc.),  and  Mrs.  L.  B.  Urbino.  i6mo,  boards. 
60  cents.     A  very  popular  school-book. 

The  book  is  original  and  peculiar.  Starting  with  the  assumption 
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ear,"  the  author  has  written  a  series  of  most  ingenious  and  amusing 
sketches  in  which  words  of  similar  sound,  but  different  orthography, 
printed  in  italics,  are  constantly  introduced  near  each  other.  This 
department  concludes  with  a  couple  of  exercises  containing  "  words 
often  confounded,"  introduced  in  the  same  manner.  Then  follows  a 
second  scries  of  exercises,  specified  in  the  following  extract  from  the 
table  of  contents  : 

Monosyllables  when  they  take  an  additional  syllable — Words  end- 
ing with  double  1 — Words  ending  in  c,  when  they  take  an  affi.x  begin- 
ning with  a  consonant— Words  ending  in  c,  when  they  take  an  affix 
beginning  with  a  vowel — The  plural  of  nouns- — When  jc  is  changed 
into  i — On  words  to  which  disox  mis  is  prefi.xed — When  monosyllables 
double  their  final  consonant — Double-sounding  consonants — Irregular 
Sounds  of  the  diphthongs  ci  and  ie — Similar  sounds  oier,  or,  our,  and 
re — B  and  A'^silent — Irregular  sounds  o{  co  andt??/ — G,  H,  andA'silent, 
and^/«  hard  and  silent — Irregular  sounds  oi  ua,  ue,  tii — H,  P,  and  W, 
silent —  IVh  sounded  like  \V  and  H — Similar  sounds  of  cien,  cion,  sian, 
sion,  tian,  and  ticn — Ci,  cy,  si,  and  jy  sounded  alike — /'/^  sounded  like 
y,  or  else  silent — Sc  sounded  like  c  and  s,  and  scA  like  s  and  s/i. 

Last  of  all,  is  given  a  series  of  exercises  containing,  in  alphabetical 
order,  a  selection  of  the  most  difficult  of  the  ordinary  words  of  the 
language. 

SLIP  IN  THE  FENS,  A. 

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"  Far  above  any  of  the  productions  of  either  Freytag  or  Auerbach." 
— A^.   Y.  Times. 

Through  Night  to  Light. 

(Sequel  to    "  Problcf/iatic    C/iaracters.'^)      Translated   by   Prof. 
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The  Hohensteins.     Translated  by  Prof.  ScHELE  de  Vere. 

'  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Hammer  and  Anvil.  Translated  by  William  Hand 
Browne.    Household  edition,  i6nio,  $1.50. 


22  HENR  Y  HOL T  &=  CO.'S  CA TAL O G UE. 


SPIELHAGEN'S   (F.)    NOVELS— (C^w^/w^^^^.) 

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"  Everywhere  one  traces  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  this  work 
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STAHR'S  (ADOLPH)  LIFE  OF  LESSING. 

The  Life  and  Works  of  Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing.     From  the 

German  of  Adolph  Stahr.     By  E.   P.    Evans,   Ph.D.       2  vols. 

8vo.     $5.00. 

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ing and  culture." — .Xa/ioii. 

STEPHEN'S    (J.  F.)    LIBERTY,    EQUALITY,  FRATER- 
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STORME'S  (TH.)  IMMEN-SEE. 

Immen-See.     Grandmotlier   and    Granddaughter.       Two  tales 

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"  flrarcful  and  charming." — London  Athencrum. 

STRAUSS'  (D.  F.)  THE  OLD  FAITH  AND  THE  NEW. 

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Frikdkicii  Stkaitss.  Authorized  translation  from  the  sixth 
edition.      Py  M ATitii.DK  IJl.iND,     American    edition.     Two    vo- 


PART  I.— ENGLISH.  23 


STRAUSS'  (D.  F.)  THE  OLD  FAITH  AND  THE  NEW— 

{Continued). 

lumes  in  one.  The  translation  revised  and  jiartly  rewritten, 
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desire  to  point  out  the  direction  in  which  a  firmer  soil  is  to  be  found." 
—pp.  9,  10. 

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SWINBURNE'S  (A.  C.)  CHASTELARD. 

Chastelard.      A  Tragedy.      i6ino.     Cloth,     f  i.oo. 

TAINE'S    (HIPPOLYTE   ADOLPHE)   WORKS. 

HLstory  of  EnglLsh  Literature.  Translated  by  H.  Van  Laun, 
one  of  the  Masters  at  the  Edinburgh  Academy.  With  a  Preface 
prepared, expressly  for  this  translation  by  the  author.  Two  vols. 
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duced."— jVation. 

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for  the  brilliancy  with  which  the  material  and  the  moral  features  of 
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The  Class-room  Taine.       History   of    English    Literature. 

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Every  educated  man  ought  to  read  it." — Prof.  L.   Clark  Seelye,  of 
Amherst  College. 

"  It  forms  an  intellectual  era  in  a  man's  life  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Taine — especially  of  his    masterful    and    inspiring  work  on 


24  HENRY  HOLT  &-  CO:S  CATALOGUE. 

TAINE'S  (H.  A.)  '^O^'KS— {Continued.) 

English  Literature.  Of  that  marvellous  book  it  must  be  said  that  it  is 
henceforth  simply  indispensable  to  the  students  of  our  Literature." — 
Pro/.  Moses  Coit  Tyler,  of  the  University  of  Michigan. 

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manual." — Prof.  Carroll  Cutler,   Western  Reserve  College. 

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Italy.  (Florence  and  Venice.)  Translated  by  John  Durand. 
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The    Philosophy   of   Art.     Translated  by   John    Ditrand. 

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This  volume  contains  the  course  of  lectures  on  the  principles  of 
art,  which  was    preliminary  to  the   other   courses   contained   in    the 


PART  I.— ENGLISH.  25 


TAINE'S  (H.  A.)  ■^OKS.'^— {Continued.) 

author's  volumes  on  "Art  in  Greece,"  "Art  in  the  Netherlands,"  and 
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Frithiofs  Saga.  An  Epic  Poem,  from  the  Swedish  of  ESAIAS 
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Liza.     Translated  from  the  Russian  by  W.  R.  S.  Ralston. 
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TURGENIEFF'S  (IVAN)  NOVELS— ( Cc7«i'»«^f^. ) 

Dimltri  Roudine.  Translated  from  the  author's  French  and 
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Spring-Floods.     Translated  by  Sophie  Michell.     And 
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